She looked at him wistfully, and answered with unutterable sadness, “But I cannot be even that; I am alone!”
“No,” answered the missionary, “not alone—not alone, though you never heard another human voice—even here in the deep woods you would find something to love and help, too—never think yourself alone, Mary, while any creature that God has made is near.”
“But who will love me? Who will help me?” cried the girl, with a burst of anguish.
“Who will love you, Mary! Do not I love you? Does not your grandmother and sister love you?”
“But now—now that they know about this—that I am a hunchback, it will be all over.”
“But they have known it, Mary, ever since you were a little child. Well, well! we must not talk about it, but think how much every one at home has loved you.”
“And they knew it all—they saw it while I was blind, and loved me still,” murmured the girl, while great tears of gratitude rolled down her cheeks, “and they will love me always just the same—you promise me this?”
“Always the same, Mary!”
“Yes, yes—I see they have loved me always, more than if I were ever so beautiful—they were sorry for me; I understand!” There was a sting of bitterness in her voice. The love which came from compassion wounded her.
“But our Saviour loves his creatures most for this very reason. Their imperfections and feebleness appeal like an unuttered prayer to him. It is a beautiful love, Mary, that which strength gives to dependence, for it approaches nearest to that heavenly benevolence which the true soul always thirsts for.”