"Perhaps now He has laid you aside, mercifully, that you might have leisure."
"Perhaps—yes. All these months of pain!" Poor thing! The two or three weeks might well look like months to her consciousness. Much experience may be compressed into a short space of time. "All these months, and I have been so alone . . . It may have been the teaching I needed . . . If Mr. Kelly were here now, I would listen; I would indeed. Tell him so, some day . . . I have thought of his words; the comfort that might be mine; and I think they helped me to ask . . . If it is not presumption, I do believe I have been heard—have been forgiven . . . Only If I could see Lettice again before I die! My heart is breaking for the child. If God would grant me this! And then I should be willing to go."
She closed her eyes, and one or two heavy tears forced their way through. It was the first time for years that she had let herself weep. "Such pain to be forsaken!" she whispered.
Prue could not bear this, and an explanation was on her lips, when Bertha stood by her side.
"I heard. Mr. Jasper is here. I will ask him, and it must be risked," Bertha said softly, and vanished.
Prue bent to kiss Cecilia.
"Yes, you are kind, very kind—you and Bertha too. But no one can take the place of Lettice; my child from her babyhood. If only once I might see her again!"
Prue was silent, not daring to promise, till a stir was heard outside, and Bertha came in leading a pale girl.
"Look!" Prue said.
And Cecilia gazed hungrily. "Lettice here! Not gone to Bristol! And I thought—"