"It is brave of you to bear it so, Kitty."
"Brave! Oh, Aldyth, you do not know; if you could read my heart, you would not call me brave. I have no courage to face the future. Always to be like this!"
"Not always, I trust. Remember, there is hope."
"I dare not cherish that hope," said Kitty, mournfully. "No; it is best to say always. I do not suppose it makes much difference to a prisoner, when the door of his prison closes on him, whether his imprisonment is for life or a long term of years."
"It must be good to hope," said Aldyth; "there will be alleviations."
"Will there? Oh, you mean that I may perhaps be wheeled about on an invalid couch, now to this room, and now to that, and taken into the garden once in a while. I! Who used to go anywhere and do anything. Aldyth, I cannot bear it!"
"Strength will be given you, dear Kitty. And you have always been so brave."
"Ah, but this requires a different sort of courage. Aldyth, did I ever tell you that when we were in Brittany we saw the old castle where the 'Lady of La Garraye' lived? Mrs. Lancaster bought the book, and I read it. The sad story made such an impression on me. I remember thinking on that bright morning, as we rambled about in the neighbourhood of the old castle, what a terrible thing it would be to have all the happiness swept out of one's life in that manner. Health, beauty, strength—all gone in a day! I felt that I could not bear it; and now it has come to me."
"If I remember rightly, the end of the story was not sad, Kitty," Aldyth said.
"No; she became resigned to the will of God; she found peace," Kitty said tremulously. "Oh, Aldyth, it is easy to talk of resignation when one is not tried."