"Christmas is coming," said the children many, many times, during the ten days that followed. Ruth's visit to the tailor, and "Christmas is coming," said she and Agnes, as many times as the children. Yes, Christmas was coming, it was drawing near, bringing gladness as it always does; but something else was coming, and drawing still nearer.
The shadow of a great sorrow had fallen. Had they looked in Guy's face they would have seen it; but they were busy with their little presents for each other, and for Martha and Philip. Besides, they rather avoided Guy, for fear he should read their secret. So it grew and grew, until they could escape it no longer. Guy was ill of a fever.
All at once, without a word of complaint, he was taken down, and to all their entreaties that he would speak to them just once, there was no reply.
"O Guy, my brother, my darling, speak," moaned Ruth, as with an agonized voice and look she bent over him. "To think of your lying here alone, suffering through the long night, and no one near to give you even a drink of water."
So she went on talking and bathing his burning brow, while Agnes, giving one earnest look, in which her whole soul seemed to go out, hurried to send Martha for the doctor; then she went back, and putting her arm round Ruth, drew her away.
"Don't take me from him, Agnes; I have the best right here," she cried, fiercely, starting up from the seat into which Agnes had placed her. "I did not help to benefit him; I set him no good example. I must save him now, even if I should die for him."
"Sister Ruth," and her words were slow and measured, "our lives cannot save Guy; only one power can. Look to God, dear sister; he is our only help. And He will help us," she added with strong emphasis.
"O, will He, Agnes; are you sure?" and Ruth looked into the face of her sister, waiting for her reply, as if into the face of God.
"He will help us," came again. Then they threw their arms round each other and cried.
"What is it?" asked Agnes, when the doctor shook his head.