“What do you know about my head and heart aching?”
“By more signs than one. When anyone is hunted like the deer upon the hills—”
Lady Carse groaned.
“That is only for a while, however,” said Annie, tenderly. “When there is peace of mind, there is no one to hunt us—no one to hurt us. We abide here or anywhere; for the shadow of the Almighty is everywhere. No one can hunt us from it, nor hurt us within it. And I assure you, my lady, this is the place of all places for peace of mind.”
“I hurt you just now, however,” said the lady; “and I left you little peace of mind last night.”
“If so, it must be my own fault,” said Annie, cheerfully. “But never mind that. I never have any troubles now hardly; and you, madam, have so many, and such sad ones.”
“That is true,” said Lady Carse, as burning tears forced their way. “You never knew—you cannot conceive—such misery as mine.”
Annie kissed the hand which was wet with those scalding tears, and laid her own hand on the head which was shaken on the pillow with sobs.
After a time, the lady murmured out, “This seems very childish: but it is so long—so long since anyone—since I met with any tenderness—any affection from anyone!”
“Is that it?” said the widow, cheerfully. “Well—this is a poor place enough; and we are no companions for anybody beyond ourselves: but what you speak of is ours to give. That you may always depend on here.”