A pin might have been heard to drop in the room when the head-mistress paused after these impressive words. She then finished her prayer and rose to her feet. The girls crowded round her, distress in their faces. Was it true? Was Christian really in danger?
"The doctor thinks badly of her," replied Miss Peacock. "He will stay in the house to-night. I have sent for a trained nurse; and Jessie and I will also watch in the sickroom. You must pray, my dear girls, you who love Christian and admire her for many things, as all those who know her cannot help doing; you also who have misunderstood her and made her life unhappy"—here the head-mistress's eyes fixed themselves for a moment on Susan's face—"all alike must pray to-night that God will spare her life. Her parents are far away; that is the saddest thing of all. Dear girls, 'more things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.'"
Miss Peacock hurried away, and the girls slowly left the hall.
At the opposite side of the bright corridor was the refectory, but scarcely a girl turned into it. They were all shocked and depressed. Susan uttered a smothered sob deep down in her heart. Maud and Mary suddenly pulled her away. They rushed up stairs, and all three entered Susan's room.
"Now you mustn't give way. Oh, of course, we can't stand this sort of thing much longer," said Maud.
Her words terrified Susan. "What do you mean?"
"That we ought to tell; we ought to tell what we know. We have given a wrong impression of Christian in this school, and if she dies I shall never forgive myself."
"You daren't tell," said Susan in a smothered voice. "If you do it will ruin me. Oh, I know she will be better in the morning; I feel she will. I will pray to God all night."
"Dare you?" said Mary suddenly.
"Oh, I dare—I dare anything. I know I am a wicked girl, but she mustn't die. We mustn't let her die. God will be merciful."