The wedding—a very quiet affair—took place in September. A few days later the youthful pair bade a long farewell to relatives and friends, and started for New York, whence they were to sail, early in October, for China.
The parting was a sore trial to all, and no one seemed to feel it more than Fan.
"Ada! Ada!" she sobbed, clinging about her sister's neck, "I shall never, never see you again in this world!"
"Don't say that, darling," responded Ada in tones tremulous with emotion. "I am not going out of the world, and probably we may be back again in a few years on a visit."
"But I shall not be here," murmured Fan. "Something tells me I am going on a longer journey than yours."
"I hope not," Ada said, scarcely able to speak. "You are depressed now because you are not well, but I trust you will soon grow strong again, and live many years to be a comfort and help to father and mother. I used to plan to be the one to stay at home and take care of them in their old age, but now, I think, that is to be your sweet task."
"I'd love to do it," Fan said; "I'd rather do that than anything else, if it should please God to make me well and strong again."
"And if not, dear," Ada said, drawing her into a closer embrace, "He will give you strength for whatever He has in store for you, whether it be a life of invalidism, or an early call to that blessed land where 'the inhabitants shall not say, I am sick.'"
"Yes," was the whispered response; "and sometimes I feel that it is very sweet just to leave it all with Him, and have no choice of my own."