“Miss Theodora, I wish to say a few words to you seriously, about your health. I should like to see you better—very much better than now—before I go away.”
“Possibly you may.”
“In any case, you will have to take great care—to be taken great care of—for months to come. Your health is very delicate. Are you aware of that?”
“I suppose so.”
“You must listen—”
The tone roused me.
“If you please, you must listen, to what I am saying. It is useless telling any one else, but I tell you, that if you do not take care of yourself you will die.”
I looked up. No one but he would have said such a thing to me—if he said it, it must be true.
“Do you know that it is wrong to die—to let yourself carelessly slip out of God's world, in which He put you to do good work there?”
“I have no work to do.”