All the future looked dark and dismal enough, and it seemed to the poor girl that there could never again be a ray of light to shine upon her darkened pathway—never any more.
She bowed her head and wept bitter tears; but somehow they seemed to relieve her, and after a time she felt stronger and better.
Here Sister Angela found her, and sat down to converse with the sick girl upon the affairs of the institution, speaking to her of cases where the patients suffered more in mind than body, and trying her best to interest Beatrix in these poor creatures.
"As soon as you are strong enough, my dear," the good sister said, gently, "we will take you into the different wards and let you see how people suffer and still live. There is nothing better to cure one of mourning and repining over one's own sad fate—the sorrow which is inevitable—than to witness the sorrow of others, and to help the helpless to bear their heavy burdens. Oh, Beatrix! truly that is worth living for—a comforter! Blessed are the comforters!"
Beatrix lifted her head and taking the sister's hand, pressed it warmly. Her sad heart was somehow strengthened, and she made up her mind to try and bear her burden bravely, and in helping others, and comforting and caring for those who were sick and in distress, she would find her life work.
A few weeks later Beatrix was pronounced able to go into the sick wards as assistant to the trained nurses, waiting upon them and obeying their instructions.
Once accustomed to the routine, to the strange, sad sights and sounds, Beatrix gave her whole attention to it. She threw all her heart and strength and energy into the task before her—the work which God had placed in her hands to stand between her and despair—and devoted herself to the noble work.
In the meantime, at the old Dane mansion, Serena was working hard to attain the desire of her heart. She had made up her mind to become Mrs. Bernard Dane, if it were within the power of a human being to accomplish it, and to that end she labored industriously and assiduously. She made herself so necessary to the sick man's comfort that old Bernard Dane soon began to think that he had judged her too harshly, and that there was some good in Serena after all. She was constantly at his bed-side. Of course, her mother and Mrs. Graves both shared her task, for the proprieties must be observed. But still Serena was the real head of the house, and to her the others began, after a time, to look for direction. And now the managing part of Serena's nature became manifest. She proved a splendid business and household directress, and Bernard Dane began to look up to her with a feeling of admiration, and to declare that she was a very superior woman.
Poor Keith, never dreaming of the contingency which was looming up in the near future, went about the house with a listless, preoccupied air, his face pale and troubled, his eyes wearing a look of heart-break. He paid no heed to the palpable scheme which Serena had formed, and which was apparently on the road to success—the game which was being played before his very eyes—for he had too much else to think about, and his own sorrow occupied him to the exclusion of all else. But Mrs. Graves had her eyes opened suddenly one day. She entered the sick-room in haste on some necessary errand, and found Serena kneeling at the bedside, her eyes fixed upon the old man's ugly face with a rapt, eager look.