A gleam of recognition lit up her face as Miss Falkner stooped over her and spoke to her.
"Is it Miss Falkner? You are good, you know how to pray. I am not ready to die. Pray for me. It is cruel to take my life so soon, and he will keep preaching, 'Prepare to meet thy God.' Do stop him. Of course it is Cecil Arnold; I laughed at him, but I knew I was wrong, and he was right. I can't prepare. I don't know how to. And why should I give up a tenth of my money?—even little Jill is laughing at me—she and Cecil Arnold putting their heads together, and he won't look at me, he doesn't care for me any more. Oh, if only you will help me!"
This and much more in the same strain she poured forth.
Miss Falkner soothed her for the time, and the next day when she was lying weak and exhausted, but fully conscious, she spoke again.
"Do you think I shall get over this, Miss Falkner!"
"I think—I hope you will," said Miss Falkner brightly. "I am praying that you may."
"I know I have lived only for pleasure, but if, oh, if God spares my life, I will give Him some of my money. It has worried me so. Even the children are giving now more than I do."
"There is something God wants more than your money," said Miss Falkner gently. "It is of more value to Him than that."
"What is it? Oh, if I get well I will give it. Life is everything to me."