"I am glad you are awake," she said, in a voice scarcely above a whisper--"I feared you might be ill--you slept so long." Lucy's eyes were swollen with weeping and watching, and she looked at her for a moment in despairing silence; at last she raised herself, and seizing Mabel's hand, grasped it eagerly. "Oh, Mabel, Mabel," said she, "what have I done--where can I hide my face?" And she sank again upon the bed, and buried her face in the pillow. "You meant me no harm," replied her cousin--"at least, not much--and I forgive you from my heart. My grief is too heavy for resentment. But get up, Lucy, and do not distress me still more by giving way in this manner." "Oh, how I despise myself! to think that I am lying here while you are waiting on me." "Well, dear Lucy, get up now, for you will be better doing something, and I cannot help pitying you here alone." "Then tell me something I can do for you. Oh, I will do anything, but I cannot get up to sit as I did last night." "This is Saturday," replied Mabel, "and there are many things you can do for me, which will enable me to be entirely with my poor Amy. Shall I leave them to you?" "Oh, yes," cried Lucy, jumping up, and throwing her arms round her; "you are an angel--I cannot forgive myself--yet you forgive me before I ask you." Mabel kissed her silently, and gliding from the room, was soon again by her sister's bed. Amy was feverish, and perpetually wanted something to drink, but it was touching to see how gently she asked for it, and how earnestly she seemed to try to repress her own fretfulness, with her large blue eyes fixed on her sister's face, as if trying to read her approval of every checked complaint. "It was very naughty of me," she whispered, "to get into the swing, Mabel dear, when you told me not in the morning. Will you forgive me?" "You are in pain, love," said Mabel, tremulously; "and I cannot call you naughty now." "Then I am glad you have taught me not to want to be told--but I shall not be happy till you just say you forgive me." "My own darling, I forgive you a thousand times--would that I could suffer instead of you." "If I had not done wrong, I should not so much mind," said Amy, thoughtfully; "but give me a little water, dear." Mabel held the water to her lips, and Amy looked at her earnestly as her hand trembled. "Do not cry, Mabel dear," said she, in a feeble voice, "I shall very soon be well again." And weary with the pain she was bearing, without a murmur, she closed her eyes. Mabel's restrained tears fell fast, for well she knew that years to come might find her the same helpless invalid as she now lay before her. The surgeon had given little hope, even in the first moment, when it is seldom withheld; and she threw herself upon her knees, and covered her face with her hands. Amy's fortitude and patience, while it deeply moved her, made her thankful to find that her early lessons had not been bestowed in vain.