[CHAPTER IV.]
HOW THE YEARS WENT BY.
IT was a sad change for poor little Clarice! From being the most active and daring among the children, the leader in all play, and, indeed, in all mischief too, frolicking about full of health and glee, to lie there in sore pain day after day, night after night, never able to move from her bed, or to join in any the old plays!
It was not wonderful that she was cross and fretful; and as every one was ready to humour her, and do anything to alleviate her suffering, she ran a terrible risk of becoming selfish and overbearing, and a great burden to all about her. But her heavenly Father had His own good purpose for little Clarice. The dark cloud was full of blessings, not for herself alone. She was to be blessed herself, and a blessing to all she loved; and do you suppose that her baptism of sorrow was a thing to be deplored? Ah, no! And so Clarice would tell you now; but it seemed unbearable then.
For a long, long time all seemed very dark. Poor Elise's heart was almost broken with watching the suffering which she could so seldom relieve, and the weariness she began to fear would be for life. Guy, who hardly knew himself without Clarice, gave up all his old ways, and sat by her bed patiently, trying very hard to please and amuse her; but his mother saw that he was growing pale and thin, and so she refused to let him remain indoors all day.
And this was the cause of the first serious struggle between Clarice and her mother. Clarice wept and fretted, and wanted her willing slave back again; and the poor mother found it very hard to deny her, but for Guy's sake she could not permit it. Then Clarice screamed, and thrust away the gentle hands that were always busy for her, and abused every one with such vigour and heartiness, that she proved herself quite worthy to be old Sir Aymer's grandchild. But she was very penitent next day, poor little woman, though she still cried and fretted to have Guy beside her. This was more than a year after the accident, and the monotony of her life was getting harder to bear every day.
One day Mrs. Egerton was alone with her; the rest were busy in the garden, digging and wheeling in the potatoes for the year.
"Mother," said Clarice, after a long silence, "how long do you think I must live?"
"My darling! Don't talk like that. I cannot bear it."