"I hope so, miss," she said, and looked as if for calming over Alicia's
shoulder away into the after-sunset bars along the sky. The colour sank
back out of her face, and the light from the window rested on it
ethereally. The beautiful mystery drew her eyes to seek, and their blue
seemed to deepen and dilate, as if the old splendour of the uplifted
golden gates rewarded them.
"Why do you use that odious word?" Alicia explained. "You are not my
maid! Don't do it again--don't dream of doing it again!"
"I--I don't know." The girl was still plainly covered with confusion at
being found in the house uninvited. "I suppose I forget. Well, good
evening," and she turned to the door.
"Don't go," Alicia commanded. "Don't. You never come to see me now. Sit
down." She dragged a chair forward and almost pushed Laura into it. "I
will sit down, too--what am I thinking of?"
Laura reflected for a moment, looking at her folded hands. "I might as
well tell you," she said, "that I have not been praying that Mr. Lindsay
should get better. Only that he should be given time to find salvation
and die in Jesus."
"Don't--don't say those things to me. How light you are--it's wicked!"
Alicia returned with vehemence, and then, as Captain Filbert stared,
half comprehending, "Don't you care?" she added curiously.
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