st she made me
understand that she was not ignorant of a great deal that troubled me.

"Who has told you?" I said, my heart hardening itself against Richard,
who could have spoken of my trouble to a stranger.

"You, yourself," she answered me.

"I have raved?" I said.

"Yes."

"And who has heard me?"

"No one else. I sent every one else from the room whenever your delirium
became intelligible."

This made me grateful toward her; and I longed for sympathy. I threw my
arms about her and wept bitterly.

"Then you know that I can never cry enough," I said.

"I do not know that," she answered. After a vain attempt to soothe me
with general words of comfort, she said, with much wisdom, "Tell me
exactly what thought gives you the most pain, now, at this moment."

"The thought of his dreadful act, and that by it he has lost his soul."

"We know with Whom all things are possible," she said, "and we do not
know what cloud may have been over his reason at that moment. Would it
comfort you to pray for him?"

"Ought I?" I asked, raising my head.

"I do not know any reason that you ought not," she returned. "Shall I
say some prayers for him now?"

I grasped her hand: she took a little book from her pocket, and knelt
down beside me, holding my hand in hers. Oh, the mercy, the relief of
those prayers! They may not have done him any good, but they did me. The
hopeless grief that was killing me, I "wept it from my heart" that hour.

"Promise me one thing," I whispered as she rose, "that you will read
that prayer, every hour during the day, to-morrow, by my bed, whether I
am sleeping or awake."

"I promise," she said, and I am sure she kept her word, that day and
many others after it.

During my convalescence, which was slow, I had no other person near me,
and wanted none. Uncle Leonard came in once a day, and spent a few
minutes, much to his discomfort and my disadvantage. Richard I had not
seen at all, and dreaded very much to meet. Ann Coddle fretted me, and
was very little in the room.

Over these days there is a sort of peace. I was entering upon so much
that was new and elevating, under the guidance of Sister Madeline, and
was so entirely influenced by her, that I was brought out of my trouble
wonderfully. Not out of it, of course, but from under its crushing
weight. I know that I am rather easily influenced, and only too ready to
follow those who have won my love. Therefore, I am in every way thankful
that I