“My dear Miss Clifton, you must not think that your face will continue to look anything like it does now, for it will not, indeed. For though it is very much discolored, it is not much pitted, and the discoloration will wear off in a few days. And as for your hair, Miss Clifton, that will grow out very soon, and be even more beautiful and luxuriant than before, on account of the renewal of the skin—so, dear lady, take comfort and do not look in the glass again until you are better.” And all this time that Catherine spoke in this gentle manner, she was bathing the girl’s face and hands with bay water, and her tender touch was even more soothing than the sedative liquid. Catherine was almost impelled to say—“Have patience—bow to the will of God, and try to learn the lesson He intends to teach in this.” But she felt the hour had not come for speaking such words. That she herself must have patience and wait for the time when she might minister to her spiritual need. Up to this period, Miss Clifton did not know who her nurse was. She had heard her called “My dear child,” or “My good girl,” by the physician and by her father, and they were the only visitors to the room, except old Darkey, who came to relieve the nurse at meal times, and who simply called her “Miss.” And if once or twice she had heard her called Catherine—still she never imagined her to be Kate Kavanagh, but some hired attendant. And, indeed, in the languor of illness she thought nothing about it. A few days after this, however, when she had grown more composed and resigned, and while she lay watching Catherine’s quiet movements through the room, she said— “My dear, good girl—my gentle nurse—tell me your name? I _do_ pray sometimes, and I wish to know your name that I may ask God to bless you for exposing life and health and beauty for one whom mother, and sister, and servants all deserted.” Just now, for the first time, it flashed like lightning through Kate’s mind that all the danger of infection was over, and that she might now thank God for preserving her from contagion. Yes! she had forgotten herself for some time past, but now her heart leaped for joy and gratitude, and she thanked God before she replied to Miss Clifton’s question, and said— “My name is Catherine Kavanagh.” “So!—you are Kate Kavanagh! Hoist up the blind. Come to me. Let me look at you,” said Miss Clifton, raising on her elbow. Smiling, because unconscious of the hidden meaning in her words, Catherine approached and sat down by her bed. And Carolyn took both her hands, and “Fell to the perusing of her face, As though she’d learn it off by heart.”