And she pressed her hand to the poor quivering heart that was fluttering to escape from the heavy chain fate was drawing tighter and tighter around it.
"What can I do for you, Gipsy?" said Celeste, stooping and kissing her pale lips, while two pitying drops fell from her eyes on the poor little face below her.
"Don't cry for me, Celeste. I never wept for myself yet. Sing for me, dear friend, the 'Evening Hymn' we used to sing at the Sisters' school, long ago."
Forcing back her tears, Celeste sang, in a voice low and sweet as liquid music:
"Ave sanctissima!
We lift our souls to thee—
Ora pro nobis,
Bright star of the sea!
Watch us while shadows lie
Far o'er the waters spread;
Hear the heart's lonely sigh—
Thine, too, hath bled!"
Gipsy listened, with her eyes closed, an expression of peace and rest falling on her dark, restless face, until Celeste ceased.
"Oh, Celeste, I always feel so much better and happier when you are with me—not half so much of a heartless imp as at other times," said Gipsy, opening her eyes. "I wish I could go and live with you and Miss Hagar at Valley Cottage, or enter a convent, or anywhere, to be at peace. While you sang I almost fancied myself back again at school, listening to those dear, kind sisters singing that beautiful 'Evening Hymn.'"
She paused, and murmured, dreamily:
"Watch us while shadows lie
Far o'er the waters spread;
Hear the heart's lonely sigh—
Thine, too, hath bled!"
"Dear Gipsy, do not be so sad. Our Heavenly Father, perhaps, has but sent you this trial to purify your heart and make it His own. In the time of youth and happiness we are apt ungratefully to forget the Author of all good gifts, and yield the heart that should be His to idols of clay. But in the days of sorrow and suffering we stretch out our arms to Him; and He, forgetting the past, takes us to his bosom. And, dearest Gipsy, shall we shrink from treading through trials and sufferings in the steps of the sinless Son of God, to that home of rest and peace that He died to gain for us?"