"Is it possible you do not know, Esther?" she said incredulously; but two red spots came into her thin cheeks. "Have not mother and Uncle Geoffrey told you?" "They have told me nothing," I repeated. "Oh, Carrie, what do you mean? You are not going to die?" "To die? Oh, no!" in a tone of unutterable regret. "Should I be so sorry for myself if I thought that? I am getting well--well," with a slight catching of her breath--"but when I come downstairs I shall be like Dot." I do not know what I said in answer to this terrible revelation. Uncle Geoffrey had never told me; Carrie had only extorted the truth from him with difficulty. My darling girl a cripple! It was Carrie who tried to comfort me as I knelt sobbing beside her. "Oh, Esther, how you cry! Don't, my dear, don't. It makes me still more unhappy. Have I told you too suddenly? But you must know. That is why I could not bear to see Dot come into the room. But I mean to get over my foolishness." But I attempted no answer. "Cruel, cruel!" were the only words that forced themselves through my teeth. "You shall not say that," she returned, stroking my hair. "How can it be cruel if it be meant for my good? I have feared this all along, Esther; the mischief has set in in one hip. It is not the suffering, but the thought of my helplessness that frightens me." And here her sweet eyes filled with tears. Oh, how selfish I was, when I ought to have been comforting her, if only the words would come! And then a sudden thought came to me. "They also serve who only stand and wait," and I repeated the line softly, and a sort of inspiration came over me. "Carrie," I said, embracing her, "this must be the work the loving Saviour has now for you to do. This is the Cross He would have you take up, and He who died to save the sinful and unthankful will give you grace sufficient to your need." "Yes, I begin to think it is!" she returned; and a light came into her eyes, and she lay back in a satisfied manner. "I never thought of it in that way; it seemed my punishment--just taking away my work and leaving me nothing but helplessness and emptiness." "And now you will look at it as still more difficult work. Oh, Carrie, what will mine be compared to that--to see you patient under suffering, cheerfully enduring, not murmuring or repining? What will that be but preaching to us daily?" "That will do," she answered faintly; "I must think it out. You have done more for me this afternoon than any one has." And seeing how exhausted she was, I left her, and stole back to my place. She slept presently, and I sat still in the glimmering firelight, listening to the sounds downstairs that told of Allan's arrival; but I could not go down and show my tear-stained face. Deborah came up presently to lay the little tea-table, and then Carrie woke up, and I waited on her as usual, and tried to coax her failing appetite; and by-and-by came the expected tap at the door.