did."

"And on no other?" asked Maria, looking earnestly at her friend.

"My sister would have grieved sadly at first--you do not know what care
she takes of me--how often she is thinking of my comfort. And Edward is
fond of me too: I know he is; but they live for each other, and could
spare every one else. You and Morris would have been my mourners, and
you two are enough to live for."

"To say nothing of others who may arise."

"I hope nothing more will arise in my life, Maria. I want no change. I
have had enough of it."

"You think so now. I understand your feeling very well. But yet I can
fancy that when you are twice as old as you are--when a few grey hairs
peep out among all that brown--when this plump little hand grows thin,
and that girlish figure of yours looks dignified and middle-aged, and
people say that nobody thought when you were young that you would turn
out a handsome woman--I can fancy that when all this has happened, you
may be more disposed to look forward, and less disinclined to change,
than you feel at this moment. But there is no use in saying so now.
You shake your head, and I nod mine. You say, `No,' and I say, `Yes,'
and there is an end of it."

"Where will you be then, I wonder?"

"I do not wish to know, nor even to inquire of my own judgment. My
health is very bad--worse than you are aware of. I cannot expect to be
able to work always; some of my present pupils are growing very tall;
and no strangers will take me if I do not get much better; which is, I
believe, impossible. The future, therefore, is all a mystery; and so
let it remain. I am not anxious about that."

"But I am."

"Here comes tea. Now you will be doing a finer thing in making us a
good cup of tea, than in settling my future ever so satisfactorily--
seeing that you cannot touch it with so much as your little finger. The
tea is wholly in your power."

"You look forward to other people's grey hair and sedateness of face,
though you will not to your own."

"Mere grey hair is as certain as futurity itself; and I will allow you
to prophesy that much for me or for anybody."

"Why should we not prophesy about your pupils too? They seem to be
improving very much."

"They certainly are; and I am glad you have lighted upon the pleasantest
subject I ever think about. Oh, Margaret, you do not know what
encouragement I have about some of those children! Their lot is and
will be a hard one, in many respects.