“Yes. She is getting better now, and she is very sorry not to come and see you; but perhaps she may be able before we go away.”
“And little Miss Mary, ma’am?”
“She has been quite another creature since we have been at Poppleby—not at all fretty, and almost rosy.”
“I am glad. And you are going away, ma’am?”
“Yes; off to a beautiful island in the Mediterranean Sea, close to all the places where Saint Paul preached. You know Dora is at Malta, where he was shipwrecked.”
“Yes, ma’am; I like to know it. You will give my duty to her, Miss Sophy, and thank her—oh! so much,”—and Judith clasped her hands—“for all she and you and Mrs Carbonel have been to me. You seemed to bring the light back to me, just as my faith was growing slack and dull.”
“Yes; I will tell her, Judith. I don’t like leaving you, but it won’t seem long till we come back; and we will send you those beautiful Maltese oranges.”
Judith smiled that beautiful smile again. “Ah, Miss Sophy, you have been very good, and helped me ever so much; but my time is nearly over, and I shall not want even you and madam where I am going. I shall see His face,” she murmured; and lifted up her hands.
Sophy was rather frightened, and felt as if she had done wrong in talking of oranges. She did not know what to say, and only got out something about Johnnie and a comfort.
“Yes, that he is, Miss Sophy, and little Judy too. The boy, he is that shy and quiet, no one would believe the blessed things he says and reads to me at night. He be a blessing, and so be Judy, all owing to the Sunday School.”