"Perhaps," she added, "the counter-irritation was good for me, for I feel more braced up. And of all your many benefits, dear Miss Liddell, nothing has done me so much good as the books you sent me, except the sight of yourself. Do not think I am exaggerating, but I am a mere machine, resigned to work because I must not die, save when I see you and speak to you; then I feel I can live—that I have something to live for, to show I am not unworthy of your trust in me. Perhaps time will heal even such wounds as mine. Is it not terrible to try and live without hope?"
"But you must hope, Rachel. You are not alone. I feel truly, deeply interested in you; believe me, I will always be your friend. You are looking better, but I want to see your eyes less hollow and your mouth less sad. We are both young, and life has many lights and shades for us both, so far as we can anticipate."
A long and confidential conversation ensued, in the course of which Katherine quite forgot there was any difference of position between herself and the humble dressmaker whom her bounty of purse and heart had restored.
CHAPTER XVIII.
"MRS. NEEDHAM."
When Katherine returned that afternoon she found Miss Payne was not alone. On the sofa opposite to her sat a lady—a large, well-dressed lady—with bright black eager eyes, and a high color. She held open on her lap a neat black leather bag, from which she had taken some papers, and was speaking quickly, in loud dictatorial tones, when Katherine came in.
"Here is Miss Liddell," said Miss Payne.
"Ah! I am very glad," cried the large lady, starting up and letting the bag fall, much of its contents scattering right and left.
"Mrs. Needham, Miss Liddell," said Miss Payne, with the sort of rigid accent which Katherine knew expressed disapprobation.