"Oh it did; it did. What I felt for months, Lucy, I cannot describe. I had grown to be so useful to my dear father: he had begun to need me so very much; to depend upon me for so many things: and to find that I was suddenly cut off from being of any help to him, to be instead only a burden!--even now I cannot bear to recall it. It was that that changed me, Lucy: in a short while I had gone in looks from a young woman into an aged one." "No, no, not that. And you have to bear it always!" "The bearing is light now," said Miss Sumnor, looking up with a happy smile. "One day, Lucy, when I was in a sad mood of distress and inward repining, papa came in. He saw a little of what I felt; he saw my tears, for he had come upon me quickly. Down he sat in that very chair that you are sitting in now. 'Margaret, are you realizing that this calamity has come upon you from God--that it is His will?' he asked: and he talked to me as he had never talked before. That night, as I lay awake thinking, the new light seemed to dawn upon me. 'It is, it is God's will,' I said; 'why should I repine in misery?' Bit by bit, Lucy, after that, the light grew greater. I gained--oh such comfort!--in a few weeks more I seemed to lie right under God's protection; to be, as it were, always in His sheltering Arms: and my life is happier now than I can tell you of, in spite of very many and constant trials." "And you manage to amuse yourself, I see," resumed Lucy, breaking the pause that had ensued. "Amuse myself! I can assure you my days are quite busy and useful ones. I sew--as you perceive, resting my elbows on the board; see, this is a pillowcase that I am darning. I read, and can even write a note; I manage the housekeeping; and I have my class of poor children here, and teach them as before. They are ten times more obedient and considerate, seeing me as I am, than when I was in health." Lucy could readily believe it. "And now tell me, Margaret, what brought this illness on?" "Nothing in particular. It must have been coming on for years, only we did not suspect it. Do you remember that when at the rectory I never used to run or walk much, but always wanted to sit still, and dear Mrs. Blake would call me idle? It was coming on then. But now, Lucy, let me hear about yourself. I need not ask if you are happy." Lucy blushed rosy red: she was only too happy: and gave an account of her marriage and sojourn abroad, promising to bring her husband some day soon to see Miss Sumnor. Next, they spoke of the new place--St. Jerome's, and the invalid's brow wore a look of pain. "It has so grieved papa, Lucy. Indeed, there's no want of another church in the place; even if it were a proper church, there's no one to attend it: our own is too large for the population. Papa is grieved at the movement, and at the way it is being done; it is anything but orthodox. And to think that it should be Theresa Blake who has put it forward!"