“But can’t you—even for Olga?” Laura questioned very gently.
Elizabeth shook her head and two big tears rolled down her cheeks. “I would if I could. I’d do anything, anything else for her; but that—I can’t!” she moaned.
Laura put her hand under the trembling chin, and lifting the girl’s face looked deep into the blue eyes swimming with tears.
“Elizabeth,” she said slowly, a world of love and sympathy in her voice, “Elizabeth, you can!”
In that long deep look the dread and horror and misery died slowly out of Elizabeth’s eyes, and a faint incredulous hope began to grow in them. It was as if she literally drew courage and determination from the eyes looking into hers, and who can tell what subtle spirit message really passed from the strong soul into the weaker one?
“I never, never could,” Elizabeth faltered; but Laura caught the note of wavering hope in the low-spoken words.
“Elizabeth, you can. I know you can,” she repeated.
“How?” questioned Elizabeth, and Laura smiled and drew her closer.
“You are afraid of the water,” she said, “and your fear is like a cord that binds your will just as your arms might be bound to your sides with a scarf. But you can break the cord, and when you do, you will not be afraid of the water any more. Myra Karr was afraid just as you are—afraid of almost everything, but one wonderful day she conquered her fear. Ask her and she will tell you about it, and how much happier she has been ever since, as you will be when you have broken your cords. And just think how it will please Olga!”
There was a little silence; then suddenly Elizabeth leaned forward, eagerly pointing off over the water. “Is it—is she coming?” she whispered.