"
Dora, like some more of us, wondered vaguely where the adjective applied,
especially on a gloomy evening without candles, but she said nothing.
"I stayed at home with mother," she explained practically. "The servants
were all out." Sister Cecilia was not listening. She was gazing up at the
sky, where a few stars were beginning to show themselves.
"One feels," she murmured with a sigh, "on such an evening as this, that,
after all, nothing matters much."
"About the servants do you mean? They are going on better now."
"No, dear, about life. I mean that at times one feels that this cannot be
the end of it all."
"Well, we ought to feel that, I suppose, being Christians."
"And some day we shall see the meaning of all our troubles," pursued
Sister Cecilia. "It is so hard for us older ones, who have passed through
it, to stand by helpless, only guessing at the pain and anguish of it
all, whereas, perhaps, we could help if we only knew. A little more
candour, a little more confidence might so easily lead to mutual help and
consolation.
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