'You must not say that to her nurse, Phoebe; you must try and strengthen my hands: indeed, all hope is not lost: the inflammation is very high, but who knows if your prayers may not save her?' 'My prayers! my prayers!' covering her face while the tears trickled through her wasted fingers; 'as though God would listen to me who have been a rebel all my life.' 'Ah, but you are not rebellious now: you have fought against Him all these years, but now all His waves and billows have gone over your head, and you cannot breast them alone.' 'No, and I have deserved it all. I do try to pray, Miss Garston, I do indeed, but the words will not come. I can only say over and over again, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee," and then I stop and my heart seems breaking.' 'Well, and what can be better than that cry of your poor despairing heart to your Father! Do you think that He will not have pity on His suffering child? Be generous in your penitence, Phoebe, and trust yourself and Susan in His hands.' 'Ah, but you do not know all,' she continued, fixing her miserable eyes on me. 'I have not been good to Susan: I have let her sacrifice her life for me, and have taken it all as a matter of course. I made her bear all my bad tempers and never gave her a good word. She was too tired,--ah, she was often tired,--and then she took this chill, and I made her wait on me all the same. She told me she was ill and in great pain, and I kept her standing for a long time; and I would not bid her good-night when she went away; and I heard her sigh as she closed the door, and I called her back and she did not hear me; and now--' But here hysterical sobs checked her utterance. 'Yes, but you are sorry now, and Susan has forgiven you. I think she wanted to send you a message, but she is in too great pain to speak. I heard her say, "Poor Phoebe," but I begged her not to make the effort; you see she is thinking of you still.' 'My poor Susan! But she must not miss you; I am wicked and selfish to keep you like this. Go to her, Miss Garston!' And I was thankful to be dismissed. My heart was full when I re-entered the sick-room. Mr. Hamilton looked rather scrutinising as he rose to give me his place. 'Your thoughts must be here,' he said meaningly. 'Forgive me, if I give you that hint: do not forget Providence is watching over that other room. One duty at a time, Miss Garston.' And, though I coloured at this wholesome rebuke, I knew he was correct. 'Yes, he is right,' I thought, as I stood listening to poor Susan's oppressed and difficult breathing: 'the Divine Teacher is beside His child. It is not for us to question this discipline or plead for an easier lesson.' But none the less did the fervent petition rise from my heart that the angel of death might not be suffered to enter this house.