"Yes, my dear, when you're dying. I'm dying, Cecile; that was what
the doctor meant when he said I'd he quite well; he meant as I'd lie
straight and stiff, and have my eyes shut, and be put in a long box
and be buried, that was what he meant, Cecile. But look here now,
you're not to cry about it--not at present, I mean; you may as much
as you like by and by, but not now. I'm not crying, and 'tis a deal
worse for me; but there ain't no time for tears, they only weaken and
do no good, and I has a deal to say. Don't you dare shed a tear now,
Cecile; I can't a-bear the sight of tears; you may cry by and by, but
now you has got to listen to me."
"I won't cry," said Cecile; she made a great effort set her lips
firm, and looked hard at her stepmother.
"That's a good, brave girl. Now I can talk in comfort. I want to
talk all I can to you to-night, my dear, for to-morrow I may have the
weakness back again, and besides your Aunt Lydia will be here!"
"Who's my Aunt Lydia?" asked Cecile.
"She ain't rightly your aunt at all, she's my sister; but she's the
person as will have to take care of you and Maurice after I'm dead."
"Oh!" said Cecile; her little face fell, and a bright color came
into her cheeks.
"She's my own sister," continued Mrs. D'Albert, "but I don't like
her much. She's a good woman enough; not up to yer father's standard,
but still fair enough. But she's hard--she is hard ef you like. I
don't profess to have any violent love for you two little tots, but
I'd sooner not leave you to the care o' Aunt Lydia ef I could help it.
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