"It would be a dreadful thing," said Gertrude, thoughtfully, "to die when you were doing a wrong thing."
"Little Mary is not going to die," said Lena almost passionately, bursting into a flood of tears as she spoke.
Miss Gifford looked surprised but said nothing except, "We hope not, dear Lena." Then drawing the weeping child to her side, she soothed her with gentle words, until she had recovered, and regained her composure once more.
Nothing more was said on the subject of little Mary that morning. Gertrude opened her book and read out until it was time to return to the house, while Lena leant with her head against Miss Gifford's shoulder, apparently listening intently, but in reality thinking and wondering over many things.
After dinner Miss Gifford announced that it was too hot for a walk; and as Lena complained of having a headache, she was to lie down until it was cool enough for them to go out, adding, as she left the room, "Poor child, I had no idea she would have felt for others so very strongly."
As Lena lay on the bed in the darkened room, sleep was very far from her. Although her eyes were shut, her thoughts were very busy. Gertrude's words came back to her over and over again, "To die doing wrong." Her head ached dreadfully, which was not to be wondered at after her passionate fit of crying; and as Lena was not often troubled with a headache, she began to grow nervous and frightened. Could it be that she was going to get the fever also, like Mary Roberts? If she had it at twelve years of age, why should not she? Yes, she was sure she was going to be ill too; and her mother would soon be in as sad a state about her, as David said Mrs. Roberts was about her little girl. Poor Lena! she began to cry softly out of sheer fright. Suddenly jumping up, she went to the table, and taking up a small hand-glass that lay there, she took it with her to the window, and lifting the blind, looked at herself. Such a miserable, flushed, tear-stained face she saw. Yes, it must be the fever that made her cheeks so red. Laying down the glass, she flung herself on the bed. Oh, if she had only told Papa and Mama that it was she who had destroyed Milly's hat, and not little Lucy, as she had allowed them all to believe, how much happier she would be now! How weak and wicked she had been and still was! Oh, if Mama was only here, she would go and tell her all; but it was too late now, Mama was far away, and couldn't hear or see her child's sorrow, and alas! it was her own doing, and by her own wish, they were not together. Then there crept into her heart the sweet loving words that had been so familiar to her all her life, but now seemed to come back to her with a stronger power and deeper meaning than they had ever had to her before. "I will arise and go to my Father," were the words that were ever before her as she lay sobbing bitterly. Yes, she too would do that. Springing up, she knelt down and prayed earnestly and truly for strength to do what was right—to tell the truth, and remove the blame from poor innocent little Lucy. Lena prayed as she had never prayed before in her young life, and being calmed and comforted, she was standing meditating how she was to carry out her good resolutions, when the door opened softly, and Gertrude looked in.
"I came to see if you were asleep; how is your headache, dear?" she asked.
Here was a way opened to her—an answer, as it seemed, to her prayer. She would tell Gertrude all, and be guided by her as to the best way of acting. Without answering her question, she sprang forward, and throwing her arms round her friend's neck, sobbed out, "O Gertrude, I must tell you—I spoilt the hat; I am so wicked and so miserable. Do you think Papa will ever forgive me?"
"Spoilt what, Lena? Whatever is the matter, dear?" asked Gertrude in amazement, and a little bit frightened at the excited state Lena was in. She had heard about the hat being destroyed, and thought, as they all did, that Lucy had done it; but as it was now some time since it had happened, she had forgotten all about it. So when Lena sobbed out again, "I spoilt the hat," she began to think it was some hat she had destroyed belonging to herself.
"What hat, dear, do you mean?"