“What do you here?” said Christian Lillie, “this is no air for you to breathe—no roof to cover you. Let us bear our own burden as we best can; you must not try to render help to us—no, nor even sympathy—you must go from this fated house.”
Anne took into her own the thin hand which rested on her shoulder.
“You must let me stay,” she said eagerly. “I can take no dismissal—you must let me stay—no one else in this wide world could be beside you as I can be—save one. I must remain with you; I must share your labors—you cannot watch continually.”
“Watch!” said Christian, “I have watched continually, without ceasing night or day. You can rest who are young—you who have known no deadly evil—what rest is there for me? Leave me to my own weird. God knows, who sent it, that He has sent patience also to bear its bitterness. It was long before that came, but I watched, and waited, and prayed for it dry-eyed: tears are not for me, unless it be the terrible ones that the heart weeps when it is wrung. You must go from this place; let us not throw the shadow of our desolation over another of your blood. You must go before you are blighted.”
“Do not fear me,” said Anne, anxiously; “do not fear to trust me. Is not our sorrow the same—our hope the same? let me stay beside you.”
“The same—the same! God forbid that you knew what you were saying. There are agonies that folk may not lay the light name of sorrow upon. Be thankful that you know nothing sorer than grief; and if you would keep your hope alive, leave the house that contains us.”
“I cannot leave you; you must not ask me,” said Anne; “I have a claim upon you. Do not you know better than I the bond that there is between us? I will not leave you.”
Christian Lillie walked through the room slowly, sadly, heavily; she made no answer; she seemed to acquiesce at last.
For a time they both continued silent. Then Anne asked:
“Is he ill? they told me he was ill.”