Her voice broke down in tears. It was indeed a blow which fell more heavily than Claire had reckoned on. Feeling assured herself what would be the end for Marion, she overlooked the fact that Marion herself had no such assurance. In her disappointment and her friendlessness she had come to Claire as to a secure refuge, and lo! that refuge was now about to fail her. Emotion overpowered her—the strong emotion of a nature which rarely yields to it,—and for some minutes she was hardly conscious that Claire's tender arms were around her, and Claire's tender voice was bidding her take comfort and courage.
"I am not going to leave you immediately, nor even soon," that voice said; "and I should certainly not leave you, under any circumstances, until I saw you well placed and happy. Dear Marion, do not distress yourself. Let us leave things in God's hands. He will show us what is best."
"I am a wretch to distress you," said Marion, struggling with her tears. "But you must not believe me more selfish than I am. Do you think I should only miss you as a convenience of my life? No, it is you, Claire—your influence, yourself—that I shall miss beyond all measure. No one in the world can take your place with me—no one!"
"But there may be a place as good for some one else to take," said Claire. "Do not fear: the path will open before you. If we trust God He will certainly show us what to do. Trust Him, Marion, and try to be reconciled, will you not?"
"I will try," Marion answered; "but I fear that I never can be. You see now, Claire, how strong a hold the world has on me. If I were good, if I were spiritual-minded, I should be glad for you to do this thing; but as it is, my whole feeling is one of vehement opposition."
"That will not last," said Claire. "I have seen it often, even in people whom you would have called very spiritual-minded; but it ended in the belief that whatever God wills is best. You will feel that, too, before long."
Marion shook her head sadly, but she would not pain Claire by further words. She felt that her resolution was immovable, however long it might be before it was executed. "So there is nothing for me but to try to resign myself," she thought. "I wish it were my vocation that I might go with her; for everything that I care for seems to slip from my grasp."
Apart from resigning herself in feeling, there was also a practical side of the question which she was well aware must be considered. Where was she to go, with whom was she to live when Claire had left her, and, like a weary dove, flown back to cloister shades? She considered this question anxiously; and she had not arrived at any definite conclusion, when one day a letter came which made her utter a cry of surprise and pleasure.
"This is from Helen," she said, meeting Claire's glance; "and what I hoped and expected has come to pass—she has promised to marry Mr. Singleton."
"Helen!" exclaimed Claire, in a tone of incredulity. "Why, I thought he wanted to marry you."