Henrietta said softly, "Take my hanky-panky—I can't get at it—and wipe away those drops. Thou art a very pretty Quakeress. I will certainly join thee, for thou hast a marvellous effect upon me."
CHAPTER XXII. THE WHITE ANGEL.
Maureen had the calm of a really great nature. She went steadily now and took her place by the sick girl's bedside. Daisy glanced at her for a minute with dull and uncomprehending eyes, then she turned away with a sort of groan.
"She hates—hates—hates me," muttered the sick child. "I did my best to kill her horse, only I didn't mean to kill it. Upon my word, I didn't. I meant to make it bad as I am now, but that horrid Garry came and frightened me, and my hand shook and I couldn't put in the right quantity of the stuff. It is awful to be hated by one like Maureen. She is so strong—so strong. I'm a poor little nobody—but she—she crushes me down and down. It's awful, isn't it? Who are you?"
A dim, very dim, glance of understanding crept into the dull eyes.
"I," said Maureen. She spoke in her richest voice. "I am one who indeed gave way to that awful, unholy sin of hate; but all that has passed—has vanished. Where I hated, now I love. According to the strength of my hatred, so is the greatness of my love."
"Pah," said Daisy, "I expect you are one of the angels. I don't want any of them about. I suppose that means I am going to die. But I won't die; I won't go pop like mumsie, only I'm horrid hot. Angel, are you cool?"