Part 28 (1/2)

”Then Rachel has never taken my place entirely away?”

”No, darling, never! I love Rachel very much, very much indeed; but still it is not exactly as I love you. I can't explain the difference, but I know it is there.”

”I am satisfied,” said Marion, kissing her friend softly. ”Do you think Rachel will ever learn to love me?”

”I know she will,” replied Florence; ”only act your own self; _follow_ your good impulses instead of driving them away from you, and you will make her love you whether she wants to or not.”

For many days Rachel was very ill, and Miss Stiefbach and Miss Christine were very anxious about her; still the doctor a.s.sured them there was no cause for alarm; her illness would be likely to prove a tedious one, but after she was fairly recovered she would be much stronger than she had been for a long time. It seemed very sad to think of the poor girl, so ill, without a relative near her, for Miss Stiefbach knew there was no one for whom she could send, who would seem any nearer to Rachel, if as near, as herself and Miss Christine. They procured an excellent nurse to a.s.sist in taking care of her, but nevertheless devoted themselves to her as much as it was possible to do, without neglecting their other duties.

It was a pity Miss Stiefbach's scholars could not have entered that sick-room, and seen their teacher as she appeared there; they would have learned to love her then as Rachel did. No one would have recognized, in the gentle-voiced, tender-hearted woman who bent over the orphan girl with almost a mother's watchful care, the cold, dignified superintendent of the school.

After a while the fever subsided, but Rachel was still very weak, and the doctor's prediction, that her convalescence would be very slow, soon proved itself true. She was very patient, yielding herself entirely to those who so kindly watched over her. As soon as the fever was past, Florence had begged permission to sit with her, promising not to talk, as perfect rest and silence were most especially enjoined by the doctor.

One day when the nurse had gone to lie down, and Miss Stiefbach and Miss Christine both had something which needed their immediate attention, Marion offered to sit with her. She had not been in the room since the first night of Rachel's illness, and was not prepared for the change which had taken place in her: then a bright color burned in her cheeks; now her face was so thin and pale as to be pitiable to look at. She was sleeping quietly; so Marion seated herself at the foot of the bed, not going any nearer for fear of disturbing her. She sat there some time, her thoughts busy with the past, when she was very much startled at hearing Rachel say, in a weak voice:--

”Miss Christine, is that you?”

”No,” answered Marion, rising, and going quickly to the bedside; ”it's Marion; can I do anything for you?”

”You, Marion!” said Rachel, holding out her hand. ”I'm so glad!”

”Why?” asked Marion, kneeling by the bed, and taking Rachel's hand in both of hers.

”Because I wanted to see you so much. Miss Christine told me who went for the doctor for me that night. I want to thank you.”

”Don't Rachel! don't!” said Marion, her voice trembling despite her efforts to keep it steady. ”Forgive me for all the unkind things I have done; that is what I want.”

”Forgive you, Marion! As if after that night there could be anything to forgive! I'll do better than that; I'll love you.”

Marion could not speak, but she bent forward and pressed a kiss upon Rachel's lips. That kiss was the seal upon a bond of friends.h.i.+p which was never broken by either.

And so a few words, a silent action, cleared away all the unkindness and doubt of the past. Why is it, that so often, in the lives of all of us, such words are left unspoken, such actions go undone, the want of which clouds not only our own happiness, but that of others?

Soon after this, Rachel was able to be moved on to a lounge, and every spare hour that Marion and Florence could get from their studies was devoted to her. Marion would seat herself on the floor by the couch, and Florence lean over the back as they talked of everything that was going on downstairs, or made plans for their summer vacation. Sometimes their conversation drifted on to quieter and graver subjects; then, as the twilight gathered round them, they would draw nearer together, and hand in hand sit in silence until Marion, fearing lest too much thinking would have a bad effect upon Rachel, with some jesting remarks, would jump up and light the gas.

Lying there, in the daily companions.h.i.+p of her two friends, Rachel regained her health and strength, and pa.s.sed happier hours than she had known since her father's death.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE WEDDING.

”I've got the greatest piece of news for you, you ever heard!” cried Marion, bursting into the room where Florence, Rachel, Mattie, and Sarah were sitting one morning in the early part of June. ”Guess who's engaged?”

”Engaged!” echoed Sarah; ”I'm sure I don't know.”

”Yourself,” said Mattie.

”Oh, pshaw! don't be ridiculous!” said Marion. ”Come now, girls, guess somebody rational.”