Seamstress, attendant on the young ladies, keeper of
the stores; only "Nurse" was still her name. She had lived longer
with them than any other servant, and to her their manner was far
less haughty than to the other domestics. She occasionally came
into the drawing-room to look for things belonging to their father
or mother, so it did not excite any surprise when she advanced into
the room. They went on arranging their various articles of
employment.
She wanted them to look up. She wanted them to read something in
her face--her face so full of woe, of horror. But they went on
without taking any notice. She coughed; not a natural cough; but
one of those coughs which asks so plainly for remark.
"Dear nurse, what is the matter?" asked Amy. "Are not you well?"
"Is mamma ill?" asked Sophy quickly.
"Speak, speak, nurse!" said they all, as they saw her efforts to
articulate choked by the convulsive rising in her throat. They
clustered round her with eager faces, catching a glimpse of some
terrible truth to be revealed.
"My dear young ladies! my dear girls!" she gasped out at length, and
then she burst into tears.
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