Fidelia held her breath lest she should be discovered, then watched them as they went on, till the old chaise pa.s.sed out of sight. Then she turned homewards, pausing at the spot near the big rock where last night she had seen Justin Everett soothing his frightened mare with hand and voice.

"Only last night!" she repeated. "It was a dream--only a dream; and everything shall be as before--yes, everything! Only I wish Eunice would tell me--"

To outward seeming, all was as before. And, though every thought of Dr Justin hurt her, it was chiefly because of her own treachery to Eunice, as she angrily called it. And so a few days pa.s.sed, and she grew afraid of the dull, persistent pain at last, and said--"I will speak to Eunice."

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A SAD REALITY.

So one afternoon, when Eunice had gone to her room to rest, Fidelia followed her softly. As she paused a moment at the door, wondering if she were asleep, Eunice said--

"I see you, Fidelia; come in." So Fidelia went in, and, as she stood over her sister, her trouble showed in her face. "What is it, dear?

Are you not well?"

"Yes, I am well. But I am naughty, Eunice, and discontented, as I used sometimes to be when I was a little girl, and you used to send me away for a change."

"Well, I am going to send you away again--too soon for my own pleasure; but, since it will be for your good, my darling, I must let you go."

"I hope it may be for my good, Eunice. I am not good, but I will try to be good."

"Fidelia, what is it? Something troubles you. Why, you are trembling!

Are you cold? Sit down here beside me, and tell me what is the matter."

"Well, we must speak softly, or we shall have Mrs Stone in upon us.

Yes, I want to speak to you, and I have been trying to 'dodge' her all day. I hardly ever get you to myself now--not at the right time, when I have something to say."

Fidelia spoke rapidly, as though she hardly considered what she was saying.

"Is that the trouble, dear? I am sorry," said Eunice, gravely.

"You needn't be sorry. Aunt Ruby is not the trouble. I am glad she is here."

"Well, dear, tell me. You are making me anxious."

"Something is the matter, Eunice. I do feel troubled. I feel as if there were something--something that I ought to be told. If you say there is nothing, Eunice, that will be enough."

Eunice sat for a long time without a word, and Fidelia was saying to herself--

"When she has told me, I shall be able to forget these last few miserable days, and be as I was before. It is a bad dream, that is all, and I must forget it."

"Yes, I will tell you. I have always wished to tell you. It is best, I am sure; and, though I may give you pain, you will be glad afterwards."

"Yes," said Fidelia faintly--"glad afterwards."

"Fidelia, I may tell you now how unhappy I was for a time last year.

Not unhappy exactly, but anxious and afraid--"

"And you sent me away?"

"Yes, dear, as was best. And when you came home, the worst was nearly over. Dr Everett came next day and gave me hope, and then Dr Justin came, and I was not afraid any more. He seemed to know--to understand better even than Dr Everett. Oh, Fidelia, I never can tell you the thankfulness of my heart! I wonder I didn't sing it out to you a hundred times. But they seemed to think it was best not to say anything to you, as I had not spoken before. But I am glad to speak now, though I am afraid you will be startled."

Fidelia rose and placed herself with her face turned from the light.

"Well?"

"Fidelia, you remember grandmother--how very patiently she suffered, and how long? Oh, no one but Dr Everett and myself knows what she suffered! It was a long and terrible time. Every night we used to pray together--she and I--that she might be patient to the end, and that, if it were G.o.d's will, the end might be hastened. And so, when I thought-- when the awful fear first came to me that I had all that to go through-- well, for a while my faith failed me. I did not tell any one, not even Dr Everett. That was last year. Then you went away, and the winter was long and lonesome; but I was helped, and strengthened, and comforted, even at the worst time.

"It was not all fancy, dear. I had some cause for fear, but the danger for me is not that. I shall have no long time of suffering, they say; and, though I can never hope to be very strong again, I may live and have such health as I have now for years. And, Fidelia, you must not say that I should have told you, and that I should not have let you go away. I could not have you suffer in seeing my suffering as long as I could keep it from you; and you see it was better so. You must have known after a time, if my fears had been realised, but not too soon."

Fidelia had listened like one in a dream. Her fears had touched nothing like this. All the time she had been thinking of quite other things.

She sank down on her knees, and laid her face on her sister's lap with a cry.

"Oh, my Eunice--my Eunice!" Eunice laid her hand on her bowed head, but she did not speak for a while. By-and-by she said, gently--

"Fidelia, listen to me. There is nothing to grieve for. Think how different it might have been, and what a happy summer I have had!

Neither pain, nor fear of pain--only a quiet mind, and rest, and peace.

Tell me, dear, have you not sometimes been afraid of me, that I might have long suffering before me? And are you not glad and thankful with me? There is nothing to grieve for--nothing. Fidelia, have you never been afraid?" Fidelia raised her head.

"Yes, I have been afraid that perhaps, when you came to be an old woman like grandmother, you might have to suffer; but--"

"Well, you need not be afraid any more," said Eunice, leaning back as though there was nothing more to be said.

"And are you well, Eunice? And have you nothing else to tell me?"

"I am well--for me. You must see that yourself, dear. I don't expect ever to be very strong. I don't think I was ever one of the strong women; and the strain of nursing and anxiety told more on me than it would on some women. But if I take care of myself now, I shall have strength to do a great deal; and now that Mrs Stone is here, to take the housekeeping when you are away, I shall have leisure for reading and other pleasant things. And I have my Sunday-school cla.s.s, and I can visit my friends, and, though I can never do much at nursing again, I can go to see sick and sorrowful people, and help and comfort them a little perhaps. And I can always speak a word for my Lord and Master.

My darling, I can see such a happy, restful life before me!"

"Oh, my Eunice--my Eunice!" Fidelia's face was hidden again. "A happy life before her!" repeated she; and the thought of her own impatience and discontent, her envyings and her small ambitions, made her ashamed.

"Oh, I am not a good girl! I am all wrong, all wrong!"

All thoughts of her "bad dream" had pa.s.sed out of her mind till Eunice spoke again.

"Have I nothing else to tell? Nothing, I think, which you have not guessed already. And it may not come so soon as they think. But I think it need not trouble you. The thought of it does not trouble me any more except for your sake. And even to you the sorrow will only be for a little while, and the gladness will come after."

Fidelia raised her head, and looked with beseeching eyes into the face of her sister.

"Eunice, tell me!"

Eunice stooped and kissed her with a smile on her lips, though they trembled a little.

"Dear, do you remember our father, and how he died? Well, it may be that the end will come to me as it came to him. That is what Dr Everett thinks, and Dr Justin. They cannot tell me when. I may live for years--but, there, I may not. Is it cruel to tell you? But afterwards you would grieve not to have known. And you are a woman now, my darling, and you know that our life is not given just to take our pleasure in, but that the world is meant to be a place of discipline and of work for our fellow-creatures and for the Lord."

Eunice paused a moment.

"I hoped to work too, and at first I murmured, but I am quite content now, as you will be by-and-by. And you will never forget me, in the happy life which I hope--which I believe lies before you."

Fidelia put up her hands with a cry. "Hush!" she cried. "I cannot bear it; I cannot believe it. Oh, Eunice, how can you say it, smiling like that, when you know that I have no one in the world but you?"