“Wait a minute for my good wishes to the bride. May God bless you! Not with fortune, which is oftentimes only a curse”—
“That is true,” muttered Agatha, bitterly.
“Not with perfect freedom from care, for that is impossible, or, if possible, would not be good for you. Every one of us must bear our own burden; and we can bear it, if we love one another.”
Agatha's lips were set together.
“If,” continued Anne, firmly—“If we love any one with sincerity and faithfulness, we are sure to reap our reward some time. If any love us, and we believe it and trust them, they are sure to come out clear from all clouds, our own beloved, true to the end. Therefore, Agatha, above all blessings, may God bless you with love! May you be happy in your husband, and make him happy! May you live to see your home merry and full—not silent!—may you die among your children and your own people—not alone!”
The sudden solemnity of this blessing, enhanced by the feebleness of the voice that uttered it, awoke strange emotions in Agatha. She threw herself on her knees by the armchair, where Anne lay back—now faint and pale.
“Oh, if you had been near me—if I had known you always, and you had brought me up, and made a good woman of me.”
“Perhaps I ought,” murmured Anne, thoughtfully. “But, just then, it would have been so hard—so hard!”
“What are you saying? Say it again. All your words are good words. Tell me.”
“Nothing, dear. Except”—here Miss Valery raised herself with a sudden effort mental and bodily—“Agatha, will you go with me to Weymouth?”