Pray for her, my boy; pray earnestly.
Prayer can move a mountain, or at least make a way through it. Pray for
the girl you call Bessie."
To one accustomed as Grey was to take everything, however small, to
God, prayer was an easy thing, and every thought was a prayer as he
walked rapidly toward Miss McPherson's house.
"She is sleeping now," Miss Betsey said to him. "We trust she will be
better when she wakens. It is rest she needs more than anything else.
She has had a hard life so far. You have seen a great deal of her, I
believe?"
"I cannot say I have seen a great deal of her, though I feel as though I
had known her always. Yes, she has had a hard life. You do not think she
will die?" was Grey's reply; and in his face and voice Miss Betsey
detected what the rector had discovered.
"No," she said; "I do not believe she will die. Sit down and wait till
she is awake."
So Grey sat down, and waited three hours, during which time the train,
which would have taken him back to Boston, went rushing by, and Bessie
still slept as quietly as an infant.
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