She pored over the broad, square forehead, looking strong, but not beautiful, for all the bright chestnut hair was pushed carelessly aside—she gazed upon those dark gray eyes under their long black fringes—such deep, transparent wells of darkness and light they were—she dwelt upon the beautiful lips, and then her glance roved over the symmetrical form. And she thought she had never seen so perfect a figure. And she sighed and raised her eyes again to the remarkable countenance, with its large features, pale and cadaverous now with a long season of confinement, fatigue and loss of sleep, and grave with thought, and earnest with deep feeling. And she could not settle it to her satisfaction whether Kate Kavanagh was a sublime beauty or a fright. Upon the whole, the girl interested and pained her. And she continued to hold her hands with a nervous grasp, and pore over her face and form as freely as though she had been only a dreadfully fascinating statue—while Kate blushed under the infliction, and finally drew her hands away and sat down. But every day Miss Clifton’s confidence in, and esteem for Kate Kavanagh, increased. And every day Catherine sought to draw her patient’s soul to the only true source of light, strength and consolation; and to sanctify this terrible affliction to her spirit’s good. The obligation to do this pressed upon the girl’s conscience heavily, as if it were the hand of God. It was in vain that she said to herself, “I am nothing but a weak, erring girl. It would be presumption in me to speak. It might be received as impertinence, and do more harm than good.” Still the answer arose from the depths of her heart, saying—“Speak the fitting words at the fitting time, as they arise within your mind, for they are the inspiration of God’s spirit.” And wisely, lovingly, reverently she spoke them as occasion called them forth. The right thing was always said at the moment it was needed. “Words spoken in season are like apples of gold on plates of silver.” Many a willing but bungling Christian would have failed to do Carolyn any good, for Miss Clifton was a very difficult subject. There is nothing so hard of impression as pride and scorn and jealousy. It was the dominion of that infernal triumvirate that made Lucifer an impracticable subject among the angels. But Catherine was moved and guided by a higher power than herself. Of herself she dared say nothing on Divine subjects. She only spoke when strongly, irresistibly impelled to do so. And her words were blessed to her patient and sanctified to her own spirit.