“But she must come, too,” said Gertrude, eagerly. “That is Effie. There is no one in all the world like Effie, Christie thinks. Oh, Cousin Charles, they have not always been poor. And they have suffered so much—and they love each other so dearly!”
“Gertrude, my child, there is a bright side even to this sad picture. Do you think that the suffering little creature, lying there all these months, has been altogether unhappy?”
Gertrude struggled with her tears, and said:
“She has the true secret of happiness.”
“Yes, I am sure of it. Seeing her, as I have, lying on that bed of pain, I have felt inclined rather to envy than to pity her. She has that for her own that a kingdom could not purchase—a peace that cannot be taken from her. I do not believe that even the sad necessity that awaits her will move her much now.”
His first words had stilled Miss Gertrude quite, and soon she found voice to say:
“Not for herself, but for her sisters. I am afraid they will think we have been very cruel. But it will be well with Christie, whatever happens.”
“Yes; it will be well with her, I do believe,” said Mr Sherwood, gravely; and neither spoke again till they reached home.