Esther drew Carla to her.
"You still care for Mr. Clifton; is that it?"
"Yes," she answered, with a sob, "that is it. I am so unhappy!"
"Tell me all about it, Carla," said Esther, in a soothing tone. "Perhaps it will be a relief for you to tell me. When a load is shared it grows lighter."
"Well, you see, Papa and Mamma died, and I had no one but distant kindred. They gave me a home, and I became a sort of servant in the family. Mark Clifton was their nephew. He seemed to love me, and he was the only one who did. He talked often of the home we'd have when we are married, as I told you.
"I was sixteen when he came to America. Then he sent me money to come to him, saying we'd be married on my arrival here.
"But when I reached Gila, he said he could not disgrace his family by marrying me."
These words were followed by violent weeping. Then Esther comforted her as best she could, and tucked her in her own bed. At last Carla fell into a heavy sleep.
Again Esther opened Kenneth's letter, read it, and placed it in her Bible.
So days came and went,—homely days, days of simple duties, days of ministration to human need. And Esther Bright was happy.