Bartley had finished her preparations, and gone
down, her distress had grown so unbearable, that she absolutely began
sobbing aloud, and screaming, "Papa!" She knew he would be very
angry, and that she should hear that such folly was shameful in a
girl of her age; but any anger would be better than this dreadful
loneliness. She screamed louder and louder; and she grew half
frightened, half relieved, when she heard his step, and a buzz of
voices on the stairs; and then there he was, standing by her, and
saying gravely, "What is the matter, Kate?"
"O Papa, Papa, I want--I want Sylvia!--I am afraid!" Then she held
her breath, and cowered under the clothes, ready for a scolding; but
it was not his angry voice. "Poor child!" he said quietly and sadly.
"You must put away this childishness, my dear. You know that you are
not really alone, even in a strange place."
"No, no, Papa; but I am afraid--I cannot bear it!"
"Have you said the verse that helps you to bear it, Katie?"
"I could not say it without Sylvia."
She heard him sigh; and then he said, "You must try another night, my
Katie, and think of Sylvia saying it at home in her own room. You
will meet her prayers in that way. Now let me hear you say it."
Kate repeated, but half choked with sobs, "I lay me down in peace,"
and the rest of the calm words, with which she had been taught to lay
herself in bed; but at the end she cried, "O Papa, don't go!"
"I must go, my dear: I cannot stay away from your aunts.
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