might want
him more than all. And so she did. Her feelings were very strong and
impetuous by nature, and the loss was one of the greatest she could have
sustained. Nothing save her husband and her child was so near to
her heart as her sister; and worn out as she was by long attendance,
sleepless nights, and this trying day, when all seemed to rest upon her,
she now completely gave way, and was no sooner alone with her husband
and daughter, than her long repressed feelings relieved themselves in
a flood of tears, which, though silent, were completely beyond her own
control. Now that he was come, she could, and indeed must, give way; and
the more she attempted to tell him of the peacefulness of her own dear
Mary, the more her tears would stream forth. He saw how it was, and
would not let her even reproach herself for her weakness, or attempt any
longer to exert herself; but made her lie down on her bed, and told her
that he and Queen Bee could manage very well.

Queen Bee stood there pale, still, and bewildered-looking. She had
scarcely spoken since she heard of her aunt's death; and new as
affliction was to her sunny life, scarce knew where she was, or whether
this was her own dear Knight Sutton; and even her mother's grief seemed
to her almost more like a dream.

"Ah, yes," said Mrs. Geoffrey Langford, as soon as her daughter had been
named, "I ought to have sent you to Henrietta before."

"Very well," said Beatrice, though her heart sank within her as she
thought of her last attempt at consoling Henrietta.

"Go straight up to her," continued her mother; "don't wait to let her
think whether she will see you or not. I only wish poor Fred could do
the same."

"If I could but do her any good," sighed Beatrice, as she opened the
door and hastened upstairs. She knocked, and entered without waiting for
an answer: Henrietta lifted up her head, came forward with a little cry,
threw herself into her arms, and wept bitterly. Mournful as all around
was, there was a bright ray of comfort in Queen Bee's heart when she
was thus hailed as a friend and comforter. She only wished and longed to
know what might best serve to console her poor Henrietta; but all that
occurred to her was to embrace and fondle her very affectionately, and
call her by the most caressing names. This was all that Henrietta was
as yet fit to bear; and after a time, growing quieter, she poured out
to her cousin all her grief, without fear of blame for its vio