"When you came away from home," said Mrs. Creakle, after a pause, "were
they all well?" After another pause, "Was your mamma well?"
I trembled without distinctly knowing why, and still looked at her
earnestly, making no attempt to answer.
"Because," said she, "I grieve to tell you that I hear this morning your
mamma is very ill."
A mist arose between Mrs. Creakle and me, and her figure seemed to move
in it for an instant. Then I felt the burning tears run down my face,
and it was steady again.
"She is very dangerously ill," she added.