know, ma'am." Poor Christie! Going or staying seemed a small
matter to Mrs Lee. It would not bear talking about; so she said:

"What shall I read to you?"

"Oh, anything. It doesn't matter. Anything to pass the time."

Christie turned over a book or two that lay on the table, still at a
loss what to choose.

"You had a book in your hand when you came in," said Mrs Lee,
presently. "Read that."

It was the Bible; and opening it at random, Christie read. She read
softly and slowly, psalm after psalm; and soothed by her voice, Mrs Lee
lay and listened. After a time, Christie thought that she slept, and
made a pause.

"Do you believe what you have been reading?" she asked, suddenly.

Christie started.

"It's the Bible," said she.

"Yes; I know. Of course you believe it in a general way. Everybody
does. But do you take the good of it? That, for instance--`God is our
refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not
we fear, though the earth be removed.' Are you never afraid?"

Christie did not answer.

"Do you remember what you said to me the other night about your sister,
and all things working for good to those who love God? Are you sure of
it? And are you always content with what God sends you?"

Poor Christie! She sat conscience-stricken, remembering her murmuring
spirit through the day.

"If I could be sure that I am one of those to whom God has given a right
to His promises, I think I should be content with all He sends."

She spoke humbly, and in a broken voice.

"Oh, if one could be sure!" murmured Mrs Lee. "If there was any good
or pleasant thing in this world of which one could be quite sure! Oh,
how weary I am of it all!"

The charm of the reading was broken. She moved her head restlessly on
the pillow. Christie went to her.

"Can I do anything for you? Let me bathe your hands and face." And she
brought some fresh water. "Sometimes when my head used to ache badly,
my mother brushed it softly."

"I thought your mother was dead," said Mrs Lee, raising herself up, and
submitting to be tended after Christie's fashion.

"Yes, she died four years ago. I was but a child; but I remember her
quite well."

"My mother is dead too," said Mrs Lee, with a sigh. "I wonder if she
would have died if I had not left her? I was but a child--only
sixteen--and we never can tell beforehand how things are to turn out.
If I had only known! But, oh me! why do I vex