She interviewed the nurse and doctor, found that the former's services would be no longer required, and took possession of the sick-room herself. Before a few days were over, she had proved herself an apt and skilful nurse. Miss Lorraine caught the infection of her brightness, and rapidly began to recover.
Colonel Douglas haunted the house. There was something infinitely pathetic to Jean in his attitude. Grapes, flowers, and dainties of all kinds were the plea for him to come in.
"Will you take this to Frances, my dear? And if she is well enough—if it wouldn't excite her—just tell her that I'm on the spot to do or carry messages."
And in watching by the sick-bed, and in consoling and comforting the staunch old friend, Jean learnt many a lesson in patience and unselfishness. It made her realise her own narrow outlook and the poorness of her aims and standards in life.
It was a bright afternoon in early spring when Miss Lorraine first came into her pretty drawing-room. Jean had filled it with sweet-smelling flowers, and when the invalid, looking very white and fragile, was seated in her favourite chair, Jean came and knelt down by her caressingly.
"You will let me go on doing things for you, won't you? You won't get strong enough to do without me?"
"My dear child, you have worn yourself out in looking after me. Humanly speaking, you have brought me back to life again, and though when I was weak and ill I longed to die, it was a very wrong and selfish wish."
"Why?" asked Jean, who was always being astonished at Miss Lorraine's view of things.
"I have done so little, and there is so much to do," was the reply. "However small our influence is, it is ours to use for our Master. A lifetime of a hundred years is not too long to work for Him. We have only one life on earth. I don't believe we shall ever get the same chance of helping one another again."
"What about me?" asked Jean, in her impulsive fashion. "I haven't yet begun to think of any one in the world but myself!"