"I don't believe she will live, do you?" she asked the servant a moment later as he had turned around to look at the old woman and they both were gazing down upon her face, drawn and haggard, with lips parted in a moan.
"I fear not," said the man. "Have you given her from the bottle?"
"Yes, the very medicine she brought me a month ago when the cholera threatened our village." She pulled a bottle from the bosom of her sari. "I'll give her another dose now; surely if one dose is good, two will be better."
She tipped the bottle to the old woman's lips who mechanically swallowed a very little. It seemed to revive her for she opened her eyes and murmured: "Who is this? Where am I?"
The other, bending over her, answered, "This is Jessa. Don't you know Jessa? I've come to take care of you. You will be all right soon."
"Jessa! Who is Jessa?" the weak voice asked while the big eyes stared up at the girl, unseeing.
"Don't you know Jessa, the girl at Bindy, the chief's daughter whom you go to teach every week?"
"Yes, but she wouldn't come to help me. She doesn't love me and she makes fun of my God."
"Sarah, dear Old Sarah!" the young woman raised the old woman's head from her lap and, gazing into her eyes, seemed to draw her back to sight. "Sarah, it is Jessa and she loves you, and—and—Sarah," the girl added softly, "she loves your God."