"You don't look well yourself, Miss Wickham," she answered.
"Never mind about me," I replied, "answer my question. If nothing harms her, if she gets no shock, how long will my mother live?"
"She may live for months and months," replied the nurse.
"And if she gets a shock, a sudden shock?"
"Ah!" the woman held up her hands ominously, "we must keep her from any thing of that sort, even a very little agitation would be bad for her; but I never saw a calmer, sweeter lady. She does not know she is dying, but why should she be troubled, she is close to God Himself, she lives in a sort of Paradise."
"Thank you," I answered. The tears were pressing hard on my eyes, but I would not let them fall.
"She thinks all the world of you, Miss Wickham," continued the nurse. "If she has an anxiety, it is about you; but even for you I do not think she feels real fear now. You will forgive me for speaking so frankly, but I can tell, miss, for I have seen much sorrow myself, that you are perplexed and puzzled and miserable just now, but I assure you you need not be sorry on your mother's account. She lives in the Land of Beulah. Have you ever read the 'Pilgrim's Progress'? You know, of course, to what I allude?"
"I know to what you allude," I answered; "the Land of Beulah is a beautiful country, but I am too young to understand about it."
"We are none of us too young to understand about that," replied the nurse. "I have been with many people suffering as your mother suffers, but I never before came across any one quite so gentle, so resigned, so happy, so peaceful,—it is the peace of God."
"We must keep her as long as we can," I said; "she is the most precious thing in all the world; we must keep her as long as we ever can. She must not have a shock nor a care."