Van Anden, you do not think--you do not mean that--tell me
_exactly what_ you mean."
But the Doctor's answer was grave, anxious, absolute _silence_.
Perhaps the silence answered her--perhaps her own heart told the
secret to her, for a sudden gray palor overspread her face. For an
instant the room darkened and whirled around her, then she staggered
as if she would have fallen, then she reached forward and caught hold
of the little red rocker, and sank into it, and leaning both elbows on
the writing-table before her, buried her face in her hands. Afterward
Ester called to mind the strange whirl of thoughts which thrilled
her brain at that time. Life in all the various phases that she had
thought it would wear for her, all the endless plans that she had
made, all the things that she had meant to _do_ and _be_, came and
stared her in the face. Nowhere in all her plannings crossed by that
strange creature Death; someway she had never planned for that. Could
it be possible that he was to come for her so soon, before any of
these things were done? Was it possible that she must leave Sadie,
bright, brilliant, unsafe Sadie, and go away where she could work for
her no more? Then, like a picture spread before her, there came back
that day in the cars, on her way to New York, the Christian stranger,
who was not a stranger now, but her friend, and was it heaven--the
earnest little old woman with her thoughtful face, and that strange
sentence on her lips: "Maybe my coffin will do it better than I
can.
Pages:
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303