Daybreak | Page 6

as she said:
"What made you wish to lose your leg instead?"
"Only Kate, because I love you more than I could tell any one. And if you must lose your leg, please God, I will comfort you for it as much as ever I can."
"Thank you, dear," said Kate, very much touched,--and after that she relapsed into silence.
Easter fell very late that year. Good Friday was kept in the hospital after Kate had lost her leg. There was a service in the ward, and moreover, the nurse came and sat by Kate's side, and read to her the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah.
"She doesn't seem to take much notice of reading," the nurse said later to Mother Agnes, who had come up again to see Kate. They little knew that it was the first "notice" that Kate had ever taken of anything in the Bible.
Kate would not talk to-day to Mother Agnes. She answered gently, but shortly, and could not be drawn into conversation. One of her old fits of reserve seemed to have taken hold of her.
Mother Agnes was going away, deeply disappointed, when the nurse told her the story of little Frances wishing to lose her leg for Kate's sake. And also, how the children had grown to love each other; and what a dear child Frances was, and how she talked to Kate of everything that is good.
And then Mother Agnes was comforted, for she saw that all she had to do was to stand aside, and let a little child do the work. And as she walked along the Thames Embankment in the glory of the setting sun, it came into her mind how Christ had taken all that was sweetest on earth, the love and trust of little children, the love of the father for the child, of the shepherd for the sheep, and made earthly love the stepping-stone to raise us into the thought of the possibility of that greater Love outside ourselves.
[Illustration: St. Thomas' Hospital.]
The next time she came to the hospital, Kate had much to ask her about the Orphanage. They talked pleasantly for a short time; and then, after a pause Kate said: "Mother Agnes, something is frightening me."
"What is it, Kate?"
Another pause--so long that it seemed as if Kate did not mean to speak again--and then she said: "The love of God frightens me."
"But, Kate, that was meant to be the greatest joy and comfort of our lives."
"It is always there," said Kate, earnestly, "burning into me so that I cannot forget it. It is much worse to bear than the pain. Indeed, I cannot bear it, it is almost intolerable. Night and day, I can never, never forget it. And oh, Mother Agnes, if I had killed my own little Frances, it would not have given me the trouble it does to think of the things I have done against Jesus Christ."
Kate's words, her face, and her whole manner awed Mother Agnes so much that she could not speak for some moments. And then she talked to Kate for long--gently and tenderly and more plainly than she had ever done before. Kate said good-bye to her with eyes that were full of tears.
That night, before she went to sleep, Frances said:
"Kate, does what you spoke of still burn into you?"
Kate was startled, for she did not think that Frances had heard the half-whispered conversation.
"Yes," she said, "it is there just the same. I can scarcely bear it! What can I do?"
"I don't know what you can do," said Frances, "except that you are bound to speak to Him about it."
Kate turned on her pillow with a half sob, and said no more.
CHAPTER IV.
IN A THIRD-CLASS CARRIAGE.
"Kate--I can't sing any more--I'm just tired out with happiness."
"Cuddle up against me, darling, and try and go to sleep then."
"Then, dear Kate," said Frances, earnestly, "will you promise to tell me all about the next stations, and the green fields, and the sheep, and the cows, and the people hay-making, and the dear little white houses. And I will dream about the sea. Oh, I am so glad that you and I are going to the sea."
So the little head with its mass of golden brown hair found a resting-place on Kate's shoulder, and silence reigned for a time. And Kate, her arm round the sleeping child, watched those green fields flooded with summer sunlight with thoughts so new and strange that often the tears would come into her eyes. She could not quite understand this new life yet, but somehow, since the day when the fast-closed door was unlocked, and the Friend admitted, she had found all her old restlessness and her hard thoughts of life vanish, and deep peace and love had come in their place.
"Is it a station?" said a little dreamy