‘Just as if one might not say what one does not mean when one wants a little comforting,’ said Lucy, pouting; ‘but, after all, it is a very good thing—he is saved a great plague for a very little time, and if it were all pity, so much the better. I say, Robin, shall you be man enough to read the service over me, just where we stood at poor Edna’s funeral?’
‘I don’t think that concerns you much,’ said Robert.
‘Well, the lady in Madge Wildfire’s song was gratified at the “six brave gentlemen” who “kirkward should carry her.” Why should you deprive me of that satisfaction? Really, Robin, it is quite true. A little happiness might have patched me up, but—’
‘The symptoms are recurring? Have you seen F---?’
‘Yes. Let me alone, Robin. It is the truest mercy to let me wither up with as little trouble as possible to those who don’t want me. Now that you know it, I am glad I can talk to you, and you will help me to think of what has never been enough before my eyes.’
Robert made no answer but a hasty good-bye, and was gone.
Lucilla gave a heavy sigh, and then exclaimed, half-aloud—
‘Oh, the horrid little monster that I am. Why can’t I help it? I verily believe I shall flirt in my shroud, and if I were canonized my first miracle would be like St. Philomena’s, to make my own relics presentable!’
Wherewith she fell a laughing, with a laughter that soon turned to tears, and the exclamation, ‘Why can I make nobody care for me but those I can’t care for? I can’t help disgusting all that is good, and it will be well when I am dead and gone. There’s only one that will shed tears good for anything, and he is well quit of me!’
The poor little lonely thing wept again, and after her many sleepless nights, she fairly cried herself to sleep. She awoke with a start, at some one being admitted into the room.