"And now, Nathalie, you have heard my story; it is not a very romantic one, but in many ways it is similar to your own. This fever of wretchedness will pass, as mine has done, if you only pray. All the secret lies there, pray; and he who has said 'Seek and ye shall find,' will not refuse you peace."
Her face was like the face of an angel. Nathalie looked into the inspired eyes, and felt how sinful and lost she was beside this heroic girl—this simple, womanly martyr, kissing meekly the rod which struck her—this patient, humble soul, rebelling not, but thanking God alike for the joy and suffering it pleased him to send. She felt, through all the dull torpor of suffering, how unworthy she was beside her; but she could not, in that first bitter hour, imitate her. She could not; she only turned away again in gloomy silence.
"You will think of all this, dearest Nathalie," the soft, tender voice went on; "for all this pain, like every other earthly pain, must pass away. The great lesson of life is endurance; and all, from the king to the beggar, must learn it."
She rose, as she spoke, to go, for more than an hour had passed, and kissed the cold and averted face again.
"I must leave you, Nathalie," she said, her tears falling on that colorless face. "Good-bye, and God bless and comfort you."
"Good-bye," was the only response; and Miss Rose left the room. Laura Blair met her in the lower hall.
"Are you going?" she asked; "the gig is waiting for you."
"Yes; but I think I should like to see Mrs. Marsh, to say good-bye."
"She is asleep, and so is Miss Blake. I will say it to both of them for you. I am very sorry you are going, Miss Rose. Do you think you will ever come back?"
"Oh, yes, I hope so! If I send you my address, Miss Blair, will you write and tell me how—how all my friends get on?"