Nancy assented with her shy smile, and stood up, thinking that she was meant to go.
"Oh, don't leave just yet," said Annie; "I haven't done with you yet,—unless you are in a hurry to get to your home."
Nancy was not in a hurry, and she sat down again willingly.
"I have been thinking so much about you, ever since you were nearly bitten by that dreadful dog," murmured Annie. "It was such a thing to happen in Littleburgh! And if anybody had been hurt! My own dear father was in terrible danger, you know, and oh, so brave! I am very proud of him, but I can't bear to think of the danger he was in; and your father and mother must feel the same about you."
"Yes," Nancy answered; "Mother has scarce liked me to go out of her sight till to-day."
"I wonder," Annie said slowly, "I wonder how you or I would feel now, if the dog really had bitten one of us?"
"I think it would be very dreadful," Nancy said, with a shudder.
"Yes—dreadful. It could not help being that. But I do think it would make such a difference, if one could look quietly on to the beyond without any fear—to beyond death, I mean. What lay between might look dreadful; but if the 'beyond' were all sure peace, then the 'between' wouldn't matter so very very much—would it, Nancy?"
Two large tears gathered in Nancy's eyes, and fell.
"No, Miss," she said; "it's just that. I've had it, in my mind so often since. If one could be sure—"