"Yes, indeed; I have no right to speak of it," said Aldyth; "but—"
"Go on," said Kitty, as she hesitated: "say anything you like to me, Aldyth; I know you only want to help me."
"I was thinking that resignation is often the highest courage. To bear pain and weakness and loss of freedom with fortitude is a proof of bravery in no degree inferior to his who wins the Victoria Cross. You have read the 'History of a Short Life,' Kitty?"
"Yes, and I remember. I know what you mean; but I shall hardly win my Victoria Cross."
"You will; not in your own strength. You are not left to yourself. Kitty, I shall pray that you may be able to say: 'I can do or bear all things through Him that strengtheneth me.'"
Kitty gently pressed the hand that still held hers, but did not speak. Tears were gathering afresh in her eyes, but they were no longer bitter, hopeless tears. She lay for some time without speaking, and Aldyth, thinking her exhausted, kept silence also. Their hearts drew very close to each other, and to the Unseen Presence in the stillness.
Then Mrs. Bland entered, bringing some lovely flowers that a friend had sent.
Kitty roused herself to admire them. They must be brought close, that she might enjoy their perfume. She smiled on her mother as she bent over her. She charged Aldyth with a message for Gladys, then she whispered in Aldyth's ear as she kissed her—
"Come again soon—come often; you must help me to win my Victoria Cross."
Aldyth readily promised; she was so thankful to see a gleam of comfort on Kitty's face.