erything seems
different," she continued, in a musing tone; "we see with other eyes.
Death seems to throw such a strange, searching light over one's life;
big things are dwarfed, and little things come into pre-eminence; our
looks and words and actions pass in review before us--we see where we
have failed, and our successes do not comfort us."

"But you, at least, are free from these thoughts, Bessie?"

"Not entirely. There were times when I found Hatty trying, when she
depressed me, and made me impatient. Indeed, Chrissy dear, we must
remember that we are human, and not angels. None of us are free from
blame; we have all failed in our turn. You have never been morbid
before; try to forget the little everyday frictions, for which Hatty was
to blame as well as you, and only remember how good you were to her in
her illness--what a comfort to me as well as to her. 'Chrissy has been
such a darling,' Hatty said to me one day."

After all, Christine was quite willing to be comforted, and presently
she dried her eyes.

"You must let me talk to you sometimes, Bessie," she said; "it will do
me good, because you have such a nice clear way of putting things, and
you never mind trouble. I know I can't take Hatty's place, but if you
will let me do things for you sometimes, and feel that I am a help, for
we are sisters as much as you and Hatty were, and I want to get nearer
to you somehow."

"And so you shall, dear," replied Bessie, touched by this humility. "You
must not think that I do not love you because Hatty was so much to me.
There is nothing I would not do for you, Chrissy--oh, you may be sure of
that;" and Bessie kissed her affectionately.

This conversation made Christine happier, for she was a good-hearted
girl, and her repentance was very real, and it strengthened Bessie in
her resolve to do her best for them all. Sorrow is a great test of
character; it makes the selfish more selfish, and hardens the proud, but
Bessie grew softer under its influence. After all, Edna was right in
saying that it was harder to suffer through one's own fault. An
affliction that comes straight from God's hand (though, in one sense,
all trouble is permitted by His providence) wounds, and yet heals at the
same time, and Bessie was to learn this by degrees; and, after all, her
cross was wreathed with the soft flowers of hope.

One morning early in October Bessie had a most unexpected pleasure. She
had just returned from a long walk, and w