There was a long silence. I wanted to ask her if, when earthly refuge failed her, she could not find shelter in the love of Christ. But I have what is, I fear, a morbid terror of seeking the confidence of others. I knelt down at last, and kissed the poor faded face.
"Yes, I knew you would feel for me," she said. "The only pleasant thought I had when Charley insisted on coming here to live was, that I should see you."
"Does your uncle live here, too?" I asked.
"Yes, he came first, and it was that that put it into Charley's head to come. He is very kind to me."
"Yes," I said, "and God is kind, too, isn't He?"
"Kind to let me get sick and disgust Charley? Now, Katy, how can you talk so?" I replied by repeating two lines from a hymn of which I am very fond:
'O Saviour, whose mercy severe in its kindness,
Hath chastened my wanderings, and guided my way.'
"I don't much care for hymns," she said. "When one is well, and everything goes quite to one's mind, it is nice to go to church and sing with the rest of them. But, sick as I am, it isn't so easy to be religious."
"But isn't this the very time to look to Christ for comfort?"
"What's the use of looking anywhere for comfort?" she said, peevishly. "Wait till you are sick and heart-broken yourself, and you'll see that you won't feel much like doing anything but just groan and cry your life out."