"But I was thinking last night, and I must talk about it. You see, I'm of no use now, and no pleasure to any one, not even to myself. And I suppose I never shall be any more; so I wish I was dead!"
"Clarice! We don't want you to be of use. My poor little darling!—We can do well, there are plenty to work and care for you."
"But I have so much pain, mother, and no fun now; so it would be a good thing if I was dead. What is the use of being alive, if I must be always like this?"
"It's the will of the good God," said Mrs. Egerton. Poor thing! It was a phrase she had heard her own hard-working mother use when things went wrong; and she thought it was the right thing to say.
But, alas, she know very little about Him whose name she thus used as a sort of spell. In the part of Germany where she was born, religion is at a very low ebb; and since she came to Ireland, neither she nor her husband, nor, of course, the children, had over been inside a church, except when there was a baby to be christened. The nearest church was six miles off, and they had no conveyance, save a common cart.
At first the Rector of E— used to visit them when he could find time; but he never saw anyone except Mr. Egerton, who let him see that his visits were unwelcome, and were considered an intrusion. At last Mr. Egerton was almost rude to him, so he gave up coming.
"Is He good?" asked Clarice, after a long silence.
"Is who good, dear?" Mrs. Egerton said, rousing herself from thought.
"God. You said that I am like this because it is His will. Is He good, mother?"
"Yes, my dear," answered the mother, promptly.