Amy tried to recover herself, but the effort was almost beyond her. "I could not live without her," she said, in a broken voice.
"Yes," replied Emily, "you can—we all can learn to submit to whatever is the will of God; and we can learn to think suffering a blessing, and to thank Him for it even more than for joy; but you will not understand this now."
"To live here," said Amy, following the course of her own thoughts.
"You must not think of it," replied Emily; "God may in mercy grant you many years of happiness in your own home; but there is no place where He is which may not be your home. Will you endeavour to think of this, dearest? I know it is true," she added, in a low voice, "for I have no home."
"Oh! if I could be like you," exclaimed Amy, earnestly, recalled for the moment from the thought of her own sorrow.
"Do not wish that," said Emily; "but there is One whom we must all learn to be like, and His life was but one continued scene of suffering. We can never have to bear what He bore."
"I am very wicked," said Amy, "but I will try to think as you do, only it is so hard."
"You need not make yourself unhappy now," replied Emily, "by dwelling on a trial which may be far off. I cannot see any great cause for anxiety, only it is well at times to think of sorrow, even in the midst of happiness, that we may be the better prepared to meet it."
"I thought," said Amy, "that I should never be unhappy till I grew old."
"And so I thought once," replied Emily. "But, Amy, before we were either of us conscious of existence, we were both dedicated to the Saviour who died for us, and the sign of His suffering was marked upon our foreheads: it would be worse than weakness to shrink from following His footsteps, because He calls us to it early."