“Why, Cary, you are a heroine! I could not have believed that a timid little thing like you—” Hatty stopped.
“There was nobody else,” said I. “You were not well enough, you know. I had to do it; but I can assure you, Hatty, I felt like anything but a hero.”
“They are the heroes,” said my Aunt Kezia, softly, “who feel unlike heroes, but have to do it, and go and do it therefore. Colonel Keith and Cary seem to be of that sort. And there is only one other kind of heroes—those who stand by and see their best beloved do such things, and, knowing it to be God’s will, bid them God-speed with cheerful countenance, and cry their own hearts out afterwards, when no one sees them but Himself.”
“That is Annas’ sort,” said I.
“Yes, and one other,” replied my Aunt Kezia.
“But Hatty did not know till afterwards,” said I.
“Child, I did not mean Hatty. Do Flora and Miss Keith look as white as you poor thin things?”
“Much worse, I think,” said I. “Annas keeps up, and does not shed a tear, and Flora cries her eyes out. But they are both white and sadly worn.”
“Poor souls!” said my Aunt Kezia. “Maybe they would like to go home with us. Do you know when they wish to go?”
“Annas has been promised a hearing of Princess Caroline, to intercede for her brother,” I made answer. “I think she will be ready to go as soon as that is over. There would be no good in waiting.” And my voice choked a little as I remembered for what our poor Annas would otherwise wait.