His own good time. Mother is ill; she is never
strong, and the nursing and grief have broken her down, so we
must all think of her. Pray for us all, dear Edna, for these are
sorrowful days. I do not forget you, but I seem to look at you
through the mist of years; still, I am always your loving
friend,

"BESSIE."

CHAPTER XIX.

"I MUST NOT THINK OF MYSELF."

Bessie's words to Edna had been strangely prophetical--"Trouble may come
to me one day;" it had come already, in its most crushing form. The bond
of sisterhood is very strong; it has peculiar and precious privileges,
apart from other relationships; a sort of twinship of sympathy unites
many sisters who have grown up together. Their thoughts and interests
are seldom apart. All their little pleasures, their minor griefs,
youthful hopes, disappointments, are shared with each other. They move
together through the opening years of their life. Sometimes old age
finds them still together, tottering hand in hand to the grave. Of all
her sisters, Bessie could least spare Hatty, and her death left a void
in the girl's life that was very difficult to fill. From the first,
Bessie had accepted the responsibility of Hatty. Hatty's peculiar
temperament, her bad health and unequal spirits, had set her apart from
the other members of the family, who were all strong and cheerful and
full of life.

Bessie had realized this and had made Hatty her special charge and duty;
but now there was a gap in her daily life, a sense of emptiness and
desolation. There was no need now to hurry through her morning's task
that she might sit with Hatty. When she went out, there was no Hatty to
watch for her return and listen to all her descriptions of what she had
seen. At night, when Bessie went upstairs, she would creep softly into a
certain empty room, which was dearer to her than any other room. Hatty's
little gowns, her few girlish possessions, were all locked away in the
wardrobe; but her Bible and Prayer-book, and her shabby little
writing-case, lay on the table. Bessie would pull up the blinds, and
kneel down by the low bed; she liked to say her prayers in that room.
Sometimes as she prayed the sense of her sister's presence would come
over her strongly; she could almost feel the touch of the thin little
hands that had so often toiled in her service. Hatty's large wistful
eyes seemed to look lovingly out of the darkness. "Oh! my Hatty, are you
near me?