"Then you would have done better to let me finish my practicing," said the other, with a faint smile; "for I cannot help you with one expression of pleasure: I am too sorry."
"Sorry!"—it was the one called Helen who broke in here. "Oh! how can you say that, when we are going home to be so happy?"
"You are going home, dear," remarked Claire, gently.
"And are not you? Is not my home your home, and will I not be hurt if you do not feel it so?"
"You are very kind, dear," said Claire; "but you cannot give me what God has denied. Perhaps I too might be glad of to-morrow, Helen, if I had your future or Marion's courage; but, lacking both, I only feel afraid and sad. I feel as if I should like to stay here forever—as if I were being pushed out into a world with which I am not able to cope."
"But a world which shall never harm you so long as my love and Marion's courage can help you," said Helen, as she passed her disengaged arm around the slender form. "You know we three are pledged to stand together as long as we live; are we not, Marion?"
"I know that Claire is very foolish," answered Marion. "If I had her talent I should be eager to go into the world—eager to cope with and overcome it. Everyone says that she is certain to succeed, and of all the gifts in the world fame must be the sweetest."
"I suppose it is," said Claire; "but I know enough of art—just enough—to be aware that it is a long journey before one can even dream of fame. I love to paint—oh! yes, better than anything else,—but I know what difficult work lies before me in becoming an artist."
"Yet you do not mind work," observed Helen, in a wondering tone.
"No." answered the other, "not here, where I had help and encouragement and the sense of safe shelter. But out in the world, where I shall have only myself to look to, and no one to care whether I fail or not—well, I confess my courage ebbs as I think of that."