The teachers were evidently under the impression that Christian would not get well; but the girls—at least the greater number of them—could not bring themselves to believe this possible. Most of the girls had never seen death; consequently it seemed to them that to die one must be ill much longer, must suffer much more acute pain. They spoke in their ignorance, but all the same they acknowledged to a frightened fluttering at their hearts; and when one by one they stole upstairs to bed, they crept past Christian's room as though they might meet her ghost on the landing.
By and by Susan herself went up to bed. Star had not said a word to Susan since her return. Susan had not dared to question as to what had befallen Star when she went out. The act of disobedience was of no moment just then to the girls. Star was glad of this. She was so troubled and terrified about Christian that she forgot that she had been disobedient; she only regretted the time she had been absent from the house.
Susan as she went upstairs touched Maud on the shoulder.
"I can't sleep alone to-night," she said; "I should be frightened. Come and sleep with me, Maud."
Maud got up quietly. "As you like," she said.
"Oh, dear girls!" said Jessie as they were passing the refectory, "I know you are feeling it very much, all of you, but you mustn't break down; that would be the worst thing in all the world. I have got a lot of beautiful hot cocoa in jugs waiting for you. Come in and have a cup each."
"We may as well," said Susan, who seldom or never lost her appetite. She and Maud drank off a cup apiece of the nourishing, delicious drink, and Susan took up a thick piece of bread and butter. A few other girls followed her example, but the greater number shook their heads sorrowfully.
Jessie stood by the fire; her eyes were red and sunken, and her eyelids much swollen.
"Is she very, very bad?" said Susan at last.
Jessie gave her head a dismal shake.