"Amey, dear Amey, what is the matter?" She cried, eagerly bending over
me with quick starting tears of sympathy in her eyes.
"My father!" I moaned, "my poor father!"
"Is he ill or what? Do tell me what ails him Amey?"
"Worse than that, he is dying," I sobbed out convulsively. "He will be
dead before I get back. Oh! What will I do!"
"Do not cry so, Amey dear," Hortense interrupted faintly. "It may not
be so bad as you think; These telegrams always sound so blunt and
dreadful. While there's life, there's hope, you know. Come and get
ready immediately, time is your best friend now."
I took her arm and went passively with her to my own room. Her
fortitude sustained me greatly. I rolled my flowing hair up again
carelessly enough, God knows, this time, and began my preparations for
my sorrowful journey home.
Hortense talked to me all the time and kept my own maddening thoughts
at bay. I gathered together only those things I would urgently
require, and gave her my keys to attend to all the rest when I was
gone.
In an hour from the time I had received the dreadful intelligence of
my father's sudden and serious illness, I was taking leave of
Hortense, with a bitter sorrow and fear within my heart.
"Good-bye Amey, and may God bless and comfort you!" she said
reverently, with both hands clasped about my neck, "and remember," she
added, kissing away my fast falling tears, "if ever you have need of a
friend to love you, or serve you, or comfort you, you must come to me,
will you not Amey? tell me you will.
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