Meanwhile, in London, Margaret was watching Euphra. She was dying, and Margaret was the angel of life watching over her.
“I shall get rid of my lameness there, Margaret, shall I not?” said Euphra, one day, half playfully.
“Yes, dear.”
“It will be delightful to walk again without pain.”
“Perhaps you will not get rid of it all at once, though.”
“Why do you think so?” asked Euphra, with some appearance of uneasiness.
“Because, if it is taken from you before you are quite willing to have it as long as God pleases, by and by you will not be able to rest, till you have asked for it back again, that you may bear it for his sake.”
“I am willing, Margaret, I am willing. Only one can’t like it, you know.”
“I know that,” answered Margaret.
She spoke no more, and Margaret heard her weeping gently. Half an hour had passed away, when she looked up, and said: