"My dear, nobody is so accursed that the love and pity of the Father of all can not reach them. But I have had experience with this loathsome disease, and I see no indications of it in you as yet. Suppose that you come with me? My child, I do not advise you to enter this hospital, if that was your intention. And Doctor Davis will probably refuse to receive you, since there are no signs of the disease visible upon you. He would refuse you admittance; and, besides, the daily sight of these poor wretches in this pest-house would drive you mad. My dear, be advised by me. I am used to suffering of all kinds, and I say come with me, under my protection. I am attached to an institution for the sick and suffering. You are far from well; I will have you cared for, and when you feel better you may assist me in the sick wards. There is always work for willing hands and a strong young body. And all the time we will watch you narrowly, and when the dark day comes—if God sees fit that it should come to you—and we discover that this awful affliction has really befallen you, we will help you to bear it. And then—not until then, you shall be sent to this refuge. Will you take my advice?"
Beatrix lifted her tear-filled eyes to the saint-like face.
"God must have sent you to me, sister," she sobbed. "I will go with you, and may God forever bless you!"
She arose with some difficulty, for she was very weak. The sister put her strong arm about the slender waist, and taking Beatrix's hand-bag in the other hand, led the girl away. As they turned their backs upon the gloomy old building, Beatrix shuddered.
"I think it is no sin to pray that God will take me away before I am doomed to enter there," she said, softly.
Sister Angela sighed.
"We will hope for the best," she returned, "and—"
The words died on her lips.
Beatrix had come to a sudden pause, grasping the sister's arm in a fierce grip, her eyes dilated with horror.
"See!" she panted, brokenly. "Must I—oh, pitying Father!—must I ever be like that?"