How Decima longed to see the good princess! When at last that much-talked-of princess came and stood by her bed, and beamed down love and tenderness, the little invalid was softened into real gratitude, which she managed brokenly to express, with tears in her eyes. Then the kind princess talked to her cheerfully and naturally of the great Shepherd of the lambs, as of some one whom she knew and who was really dear to her.
At the golden house religion had been lived and inculcated; at the hospital it seemed the felt, ever-pervading atmosphere. Heavenly comfort was sung in the sweet hymns, breathed in the trustful prayers, spoken of as something always in mind, and acted out in the sweet offices of love towards the unfortunate. Such surroundings were life-giving to the poor little invalid. Her fretfulness gave way, and a sweet quietness succeeded her nervous irritation. After the weary turmoil of the past in the noisy, crowded home, there was now a serene peace for her, as if the angels had taken her under their sheltering wings.
CHAPTER XIV.
WHERE?
Alma was sitting in her own room, with her treasure-house before her. Its door was still fast locked, as was her purse for all applications for pecuniary help. Closed, too, seemed the door of her heart to the great Friend who still lovingly knocked without. His question, "Where is the guest-room?" had been met by a long, unbroken silence.
Now Alma's mind was on her future plans. She had shaken the little cottage, and had been quite dissatisfied with the result. She rose hastily. A drawer in her writing-desk was impulsively unlocked. She took out a jewel-case where a diamond ring, and a brooch set with the same precious stones, and a watch with a monogram in pearls, were lying side by side. She looked admiringly at them, and carefully examined them all. The ring, the brooch, and the little watch were then deliberately let down the chimney of the golden house, as if they had been black sweeps on a lawful errand. They were given, "offered," she felt, and her design was now far on its way to its accomplishment. There could be no more earthquake-like shakings of that cottage. That amusement must be abandoned.
There was a sharp prick from Alma's conscience in the midst of her evident satisfaction. Her father had said this jewellery would some day belong to her, and had even, at her special request, allowed her to have the now sacrificed treasures in her own keeping. "They were to be mine. They are mine," she said to herself. "I have offered them. I shall never wear them now. My mother in heaven would approve of what I have done." Here her conscience gave her a cruel pang. She was inclined to open again the velvet-lined box, and lay the jewellery where it had so long rested, but that was impossible without opening the little locked door of the treasure-house. That she had vowed to herself she would not do before the time appointed—a time she was now most anxious should soon arrive.
At this moment Alma heard the sound of footsteps. She thrust the case into its drawer, locked it and dropped the key into her pocket like one disturbed in a dishonest act rather than in a noble deed. There was a loud knock at the door. Alma opened it, and Frans stood before her.
"What do you want here?" she said impatiently.