Regularly each day Dora went to the handsome library where she
recited her lessons to Mr. Hastings, who became deeply interested
in watching the development of her fine intellectual mind.
One thing, however, troubled her. Ella did not improve, and never
since Dora came to Rose Hill had she sat up more than an hour, but
lay all day on her bed, while her face grew white almost as the
wintry snow, save when a bright red spot burned upon her cheeks,
making her, as Dora thought, even more beautiful than she had been
in health. Once in the gathering twilight, when they sat together
alone, she startled Dora with the question, "Is everybody afraid
to die?"
"Mother was not," answered Dora, and Ella continued, "But she was
good, and I am not. I have never done a worthy act in all my life.
Never thought of _death_, or even looked upon it, for mother
told us there was no need of harrowing up our feelings--it would
come soon enough, she said; and to me, who hoped to live so long,
it has come _too soon_--all too soon;" and the hot tears
rained through the transparent fingers, clasped so convulsively
over her face.
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