The girl's spirit had been cruelly hurt. She was possessed of
an unhealthy, morbid fear of the world that would cripple her for life
if it could not somehow be overcome.
Miss Farwell felt that Grace Conner's only chance lay in winning a place
for herself in the community where she had suffered such ill-treatment.
But before she faced the people again she must be prepared. The
sensitive, wounded spirit must be strengthened, for it could not bear
many more blows. How to do this was the problem.
Hope dropped her sewing in her lap. "Come over here by the window, dear,
and let's talk about it."
The young woman seated herself on a stool at the feet of her companion
who, in actual years, was but little her senior, but who, in so many
ways, was to her an elder sister.
"Why are you so anxious to leave me, Grace?" asked the nurse with a
smile.
The girl's eyes--eyes that would never now be wholly free from that
shadow of fear and pain--filled with tears. She put out a hand
impulsively, touching Miss Farwell's knee. "Oh, don't say that!" she
exclaimed, with a little catch in her voice. "You know it isn't that."
The eyes of the stronger woman looked reassuringly down at her. "Well,
what is it then?" The low tone was insistent. The nurse felt that it
would be better for the patient to express that which was in her own
mind.
The girl's face was down-cast and she picked nervously at the fold of
her friend's skirt. "It's nothing, Miss Farwell; only I feel that I--I
ought not to be a burden upon you a moment longer than I can help.
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