tone still had the awful dreariness of that utter inward
living,--"Sylvie, I have been drawn to you in this your anguish by some
power quite outside of myself. I think we have always liked each other
in a curious way, but we were neither of us sentimental girls. I could
not cry over you now, nor kiss you with effusive fondness; but I wish,
oh, how passionately I wish, I could save you one pang! I wish I could
die in _her_ place! My life is of so little value"--

"I believe God is right," Sylvie answered with a great struggle. "She
has used her life so well; she has garnered ripened sheaves of mercy and
kindliness and good works. There is not only golden wheat, but the
sweetness of rose and violet, the pungent purity and strength of
heliotrope, the use, the beauty, every thing. She is ready."

"And I am not worthy to be taken even for a ransom!" said the proud,
cold voice, not betraying any inward hurt.

"God does not mean that. You are to shape your life to something better.
Irene, did you ever think how easy it might be to die for those we love,
but oh, so hard to live for _them_, not ourselves!"

Irene rose, and stood there like a statue. Sylvie felt for the hand,
pressed it to her lips, folded it about her chin in a softly caressing
manner. How had Irene become dear to her?

"I am no heroine, Sylvie. I have been tossed up by the breakers of
fortune, and am out of joint, broken, bruised, of no avail."

"You can comfort _me_. You can help to give me strength and sympathy.
You can become a warm, living, active woman. There is always room for
such in the world, and a work for them to do. God never put an idle or
useless thing in the world, much more a human soul; and it must go sadly
astray before it comes to despair. Irene, you will not shut your heart
again, you will turn its warm side to me, you will take me in, with my
great sorrow;" and she buried her face in the other's dress, with a
shivering sob.

"I will do--what you wish. I am physically strong again. Let me help
you--anywhere, anyhow. You were so good and patient through my dreary
time."

Then she stole softly away, astonished at herself. Within was still the
coldness of Alpine glaciers. But oh, if she might be warmed!

Miss Barry's journey was performed in an easy carriage. A paralysis of
the lower limbs had supervened; but otherwise she had rallied a little,
and her mind was clear and cheerful. There was only to be a peaceful
waiting for the end,