"Rose," said she, with a shudder, "if I had not prayed so for you night and day, perhaps you would not have found such friends in your time of need. Oh! let us both pray for that poor lost one, that she may be saved also."
From this day forth Rose began to pray the true prayer of pity, and then the true prayer of a personal faith. The rude, evil world had shown her her own and others' need, in a way that made her feel that she wanted the Heavenly Father's care.
In other respects she took up her life for a time where she had left it a few months before.
Edith was deeply moved at Rose's story, and Zell's wild, wayward steps were followed by prayers, as by a throng of reclaiming angels.
"I would go and bring her home in a moment, if I only knew where to find her," said Edith.
"Mrs. Ranger said she would write as soon as there was any chance of your doing so," said Rose.
About the middle of January a letter came to Edith as follows:
"Miss Edith Allen—Your sister, Zell, is in Bellevue Hospital,
Ward —. Come quickly; she is very ill."
Edith took the earliest train, and was soon following an attendant, with eager steps, down the long ward. They came to a dark-eyed girl that was evidently dying, and Edith closed her eyes with a chill of fear. A second glance showed that it was not Zell, and a little further on she saw the face of her sister, but so changed! Oh! the havoc that sin and wretchedness had made in that beautiful creature during a few short months! She was in a state of unconscious, muttering delirium, and Edith showered kisses on the poor, parched lips; her tears fell like rain on the thin, flushed face. Zell suddenly cried, with the girlish voice of old:
"Hurrah, hurrah! books to the shades; no more teachers and tyrants for me."