How often we say and hear and think over and over all these things, till they become trite, and we attach no meaning to them, and then all at once they become earnest, vivid realities to us, even the very anchors by which we hold fast to life!
Poor Agnes's path was indeed to be made plain to her,—but not in the way Letty had imagined. She pictured to herself Agnes with active health, going humbly about her life's work, fulfilling the long-neglected duties of a mother to her unfortunate child,—perhaps becoming the means of her husband's conversion,—and using her influence for good to all around her. Such was not God's plan.
Two or three days after Letty's visit, as she and John were at their late tea with some strawberries from their own garden, Dr. Woodman came in. He had opened a health-establishment—a sort of private hospital—in one of the large, fine old places with which the neighbourhood of T— abounded, and had his hands so full with his in-door cases that he seldom visited any but his old patients in the city.
"Here you are with your teapots!" was his first salutation. For an inveterate prejudice against "the cup that cheers but not inebriates" was one of the good doctor's harmless superstitions. "Teapots, and water-pitchers, and milk-jugs! Why don't you have some coffee and chocolate into the bargain?"
"I can make you some coffee and chocolate in a moment, doctor," said Letty, mischievously. "I would have had them ready if I had known you were coming."
"I have just been to see your cousin Agnes," said he, after a few minutes of desultory conversation. "She tells me you spent some time with her the other day."
"I am very glad," said Letty. "I very much wished Agnes to have advice, and tried to make her send for you at that time. How did you find her?"
"She is very ill," replied the doctor, gravely.
"She complains very much of pains in her chest and side, and seems to have quite made up her mind that she has a cancer," said Letty. "I thought the pain might proceed from some other cause. Agnes was always subject to neuralgia, you know."
"It is not a cancer," said Dr. Woodman. "There is an internal abscess. She may live a few weeks longer, or she may die at any moment; but her death-warrant is signed. There is no possibility of doing any thing for her. Her strength has been wonderfully kept up by opium and other stimulants; but she is past even that now."