Daybreak | Page 8

Florence A. Sitwell
Kate.
A look of great compassion came into Violet's face as these words were said. She only answered quietly: "Shall I tell you a true story? A lady one evening who was walking over a bridge in London, saw a poor man leaning over a parapet, and he had such a sad look in his face that she felt sure he meant to drown himself. She didn't like to speak to him; but, as she passed by, she said these words out loud, 'There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God.' And long after they met, and he recognised her and said, 'You saved my life,' and told her that that night he had had the fullest intention of drowning himself. I think her words had made him suddenly remember another city besides London, and another river besides the dark, gloomy Thames rolling away beneath his feet."
She waited a moment to see if Kate had taken in the little story, and what effect it was having upon her. Kate's head was bent down, and she had fast hold of little Frances' hand.
"Like enough the city and the river made him think of Christ," she said. "I couldn't drown myself now, Miss,--not if it was ever so,--for His sake I couldn't. And if I had to be miserable all the rest of my life, it seems to me it would be worth while to have lived to have known the love of Christ even for five minutes."
"And it isn't only for five minutes," said Violet, in a low voice, her eyes glowing, "but for ever and for ever. This is only the beginning."
They were silent for some moments, and then Violet's gentle questions called out much of the history of Kate's sad life. They were learning from each other, those two girls. Kate learned what sympathy may do, and a deep desire to minister to others sprang up within her. Violet learned how dull and sad and surrounded with dangers the lives of many girls in our great cities are, and the knowledge gave rise to new prayers and plans and work in her future life.
A cathedral town came in sight. Violet, starting up, woke old Nanny, and then began quickly putting together books and cloaks. Only a few minutes more, and she was standing with outstretched hand at the door of the railway carriage.
"Good-bye, good-bye," she said. "Do write and tell me how you and little Frances like the sea-side. I hope it will do you good," and she was gone. Kate and Frances watched with eager eyes till the tall graceful figure of the girl and the bent figure of the old woman were lost to sight in the crowded station.
"Do you think we shall ever see her again?" said little Frances.
"Perhaps," said Kate, "we shall have to wait till we reach the Golden City."
CHAPTER V.
BY THE SEA.
Two little girls were lying out, in two long chairs, by the sea-shore. The younger one was knitting, and, as she knitted, talking and laughing, and often looking up to rest her eyes lovingly on the sea. Her lap was covered with shells and sea-weed, brought to her by some pale-faced fellow-patients who were wandering about the shore.
Mother Agnes had sent both Kate and Frances to a Convalescent Home by the sea, and their delight over this their first sea-side visit was untold. From early morning, when they woke to find themselves in a pink room, in beds with white dimity curtains printed with pink rose-buds, and the smell of the sea coming in at the open window, till the last light had faded away in the long summer evenings, their days were one continued dream of delight.
Kate's face was growing sunburnt and warm in colouring. Her eyes had a soft, surprised look in them, as if she were suddenly waking up to a whole world of unsuspected wonders in heaven and on earth. There was a gladness about her, like the gladness of a little child who has been turned out of a dull, close room into a field of cowslips. She and Frances never tired of each other's company; and Kate, for the first time in her life, was guilty of laughing and talking nonsense from sheer lightheartedness.
And so the days sped by, till Kate began to have a sort of wish to see the Orphanage again, and a feeling that after all the pain might be conquered, and life there be brightest and best.
And, oddly enough, as she and Frances were talking about it one morning, who should make her appearance but Mother Agnes herself, who spoke about Kate's return as if it had been all settled long ago; and then told Frances to her great surprise that she too was to become an
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