The latter regarded her for some moments in silence.

"Did you wish to see me, auntie dear?" said Edith.

Miss Plympton sighed.

"Yes," she said, slowly; "but, my poor darling Edie, I hardly know how
to say to you what I have to say. I--I--do you think you can bear to
hear it, dear?"

At this Edith looked more disturbed than ever; and placing her elbow on
the centre-table, she leaned her cheek upon her hand, and fixed her
melancholy eyes upon Miss Plympton. Her heart throbbed painfully, and
the hand against which her head leaned trembled visibly. But these signs
of agitation did not serve to lessen the emotion of the other; on the
contrary, she seemed more distressed, and quite at a loss how to
proceed.

"Edith," said she at last, "my child, you know how tenderly I love you.
I have always tried to be a mother to you, and to save you from all
sorrow; but now my love and care are all useless, for the sorrow has
come, and I do not know any way by which I can break bad news
to--to--a--a bereaved heart."

She spoke in a tremulous voice and with frequent pauses.

"Bereaved!" exclaimed Edith, with white lips. "Oh, auntie! Bereaved! Is
it that? Oh, tell me all. Don't keep me in suspense. Let me know the
worst."