It was unbearable.
"My dear," said Aunt Jane, as Claudia wept aloud, "we are in our
heavenly Father's hands; let us ask Him to keep your dear father at
least until you see him."
So those two old maids with difficulty adjusted their stiff knees to
kneeling, and, as Aunt Jane lifted her quavering voice in a few
sentences of simple prayer, she laid a trembling hand protectingly on
Claudia.
Would that night never go? Its hours to Claudia seemed weeks. The shock
of an impending loss would of itself have been hard enough to bear; but
to remember that by her own indifference to home she had perhaps missed
seeing her father again alive--that was worse than all.
And then, as she thought of the sick-room, she remembered her mother.
How had she contrived for years not to see that in the daily care of
that patient woman there lay the first call for a dutiful daughter?
It was noble to work; and there _was_ a work for every one to do.
But why had she foolishly gone afield to look for occupation and a place
in life, when an obvious duty and a post she alone could best fill lay
at home? If God would only give her time to amend!
It was a limp, tear-stained, and humbled Claudia who reached home by the
first train the next morning.
Her father was alive--that was granted to her. Her mother had borne up
bravely, but the struggle was obvious.
A nurse was in possession of the sick-chamber, and Claudia could only
look on where often she fain would have been the chief worker.
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