Though herself innocent of blood, she would still know of the terrible work of the Sisterhood; she would be constantly hearing of its results, and yet not be able to utter one word to save the children.

Painfully she reflected what she ought to do, but could see no way open to her; and as the problem daily stood out more terribly bright before her, and yet daily more insoluble, her reason began to wane once more.

What health she had gained was being gradually lost again.

She felt that she was dying and she was glad to die, poor perplexed child, for whom circ.u.mstances had made life so portentous a problem!

CHAPTER XIX.

CATHERINE KING VISITS MARY.

So it was that Mary by degrees began to entertain a half belief in religion, or rather she had come to altogether believe in a religion of her own--a vague religion that had no dogmas, but the key-stone of which was a profound faith in love. That was the cross to which she clung, a reality; she knew nothing else for certain, of G.o.ds or creeds. They were as yet dark and shifting to her vision. She could not immediately accept all the beliefs of her new friends.

But this mysterious love that carried her soul so far above merely earthly things, opened possibilities, nay certainties, of higher mysteries. She could no longer accept the cold ethical schemes in which she had been educated. She thought the reasonings must be fallacious that were so opposed to these divine supersensual instincts.

Taught by nature herself, she worshipped in her way the unknown G.o.d, whose sole revelation to her was love.

At first she would listen with sad wonder to the little prayers that Mrs. White's eldest children would lisp at their mother's knee, in which they invoked their G.o.d's blessing on their mother, Aunty Mary, all their kind friends, and even their pet animals. It was very beautiful and sweet to have this belief she thought.

She fell into a way of _wishing_ a sort of prayer of her own, when she got into bed at night.

At last she would even kneel down by the bedside, as she had seen the children do, and pray earnestly in a more definite manner.

It was the crying out of a soul in darkness, a prayer true as was that of the publican in the parable. It was a prayer to the unknown G.o.d somewhat in this wise:

"O G.o.d! if there be a G.o.d, O G.o.d of Love! G.o.d of the Christians! if, indeed, thou art; I love Thee. I do not pray for myself, except that I may die. But oh, bless all my dear friends, and especially Mrs. King, my mother; make her happy in knowing Thee; and make Harry happy, make him not miss me much, and not be very sorry when I am gone, but give him a true good wife. And, O G.o.d, let me die soon, else I shall be the curse of him I love, and ruin his happiness. Take me away from him and let me die."

As Mary's cure was no longer a question for medical science, but depended solely upon the cheerfulness of her surroundings and such like natural remedies, Dr. Duncan had not considered it necessary, so far, to visit his sister's cottage. He was afraid, too, lest his presence might distress the girl, and decided not to see her until her convalescence was at a more advanced stage.

He also hinted to Mrs. King that it would be well if she too abstained from seeing her niece for the present.

Mrs. White kept her brother fully informed by letter of the progress of the patient. Of late these letters had not been quite so hopeful as they were at first. She told him that the convalescence which at first had been so rapid, had reached its limit; that Mary's health was no longer improving, but seemed to her to be even retrograding.

At last she wrote him a long letter in which she expressed her great anxiety about the girl. She begged him to come down himself, and also to send down Mrs. King, as it was possible that the woman's presence would be of benefit to Mary. "At any rate," she wrote, "send her down for a couple of days, the experiment is worth trying."

"She is sure to be right," thought the doctor as he read his sister's letter, so he called on Mrs. King and told her that it would be advisable now for her to visit her niece, but he asked her to make this first visit a very short one, merely to run down one afternoon and return the next morning, then, if the effect on the girl was satisfactory, the visits could be frequent and of longer duration.

Catherine was of course overjoyed at the prospect of again seeing her darling, and arranged to go to the cottage on the following evening.

So the next morning's post brought Mrs. White a letter announcing this fact.

She went out upon the lawn with Mary after breakfast with the intention of breaking this news to her.

Mrs. White had never been able to quite make out what were the exact feelings between Mrs. King and her niece. Mary always exhibited a strange dislike to speaking about her aunt. She never voluntarily introduced her into the conversation. She seemed troubled when questioned about her; and yet, on the rare occasions when the girl was more communicative than usual on this subject, she always spoke of Catherine King in terms of the highest praise. She evidently entertained a great admiration and love for her.

"Mary," said Mrs. White when they were upon the lawn, "I have good news for you, your aunt is coming to see you."

Mary clapped her hands with childish joy, "Oh! I am so glad," she exclaimed. "I have so looked forward to this. I have been waiting so long; I thought I should never be allowed to see her."

"She is coming this evening and will stay till to-morrow morning, so you will be able to have a long talk with her."

Mary stood still and her brow became clouded. "Yes, I have much to talk to my aunt about," she said, slowly.

"You never speak to me about her, dear. I should like to know her better. She must be very fond of you."

"She likes me much better than I deserve," replied Mary, sadly. "I have been very ungrateful to her."

Mrs. White, who was too true a woman not to suffer from curiosity, after a little thought said:

"My brother tells me that Mrs. King has some rather startling political and social theories."

"She has," replied Mary, rather curtly.

A long pause followed.

"Has she succeeded in converting you to her views?" then inquired Mrs.

White.

A look of distress came to Mary's face. "I don't know," she cried, in an excited, nervous way. "Don't ask me now about those things, dear Mrs.

White. I am too ill to think." She pa.s.sed her hand across her forehead as if to wipe away some painful vision.

Mrs. White took the girl's hand tenderly in hers. "Forgive me, Mary dear," she said. "It is cruel of me to worry you with inquisitive questions; but I will be good now."

The little woman reproached herself bitterly for having so thoughtlessly caused the girl pain, and turned the conversation into another channel.

Throughout the day, Mary was strangely excited and changeable in her moods. One moment she was wild with delight at the prospect of seeing again her beloved chief; the next she felt sick with fear, as she thought of the confession that she had to make; for she had made up her mind to tell Catherine all--her doubts as to the righteousness of the cause; her love for Dr. Duncan; she would throw herself at her feet and make a clean breast of it.

She endeavoured to divert her thoughts by taking up any employment she could to fill up the tedious hours of this exciting day. In the afternoon, she begged Mrs. White's permission to relieve her at her usual task of bathing the youngest baby and putting him to bed before tea.

He was soon splashing and chuckling away in the bath, while Mary was a.s.siduously sponging him, playing and laughing with him in an unusually happy mood for the time.

While she was engaged at this performance, there came a ring at the entrance bell; but she did not hear it.

Soon after she heard the voices of two people who were mounting the stairs leading to the nursery.

The door opened, and her hostess entered with a smiling and excited face.

"See whom I have brought to see you, Mary," she said.

Mary looked up and perceived, closely following Mrs. White, the tall figure of Catherine King.

The sudden meeting produced a strange shock and revulsion of feeling in both the mistress and pupil.

Mary dropped her sponge, but did not move from where she was kneeling by the bath. Her face and neck and ears turned a vivid crimson, and she looked aghast at Catherine, deprived of all power to speak for the moment, so startled was she at this abrupt appearance.