She was extremely pale, and there were blue shadows about her nose and
temples; but the brows were delicately pencilled, the lashes lying
against the colorless cheek, thick and long, while the hair, of a brown
so light as to be almost yellow, curled naturally around her forehead.
"She is really pretty," thought Sara, "but how thin and blue. And what
mere claws her hands are!" looking at the one clutching a corner of the
sheet. "Poor girl! I don't believe she is much older than I, but she
looks as if she had suffered enough for an old woman. Ah! she's
speaking."
The lips were moving, but at first no sound came from them; then she
caught one word, "mother," and then a tear rolled from the closed eyes
over the white cheeks.
Sara gently wiped it away, thinking pitifully, "Where can her mother
be?" and while the thought was impressed upon her face in a look of
tenderness and pity, the eyes of the young girl opened wide and gazed
into her own.
"Who are--you?" she asked faintly. "An angel?"
Sara smiled.
"No, only a girl like yourself."
"Then I am--not dead?"
"No, indeed: you have been ill, but are better now. Here is something
for you to take," placing a spoon to her lips.
The invalid swallowed the liquid docilely, never taking her large hazel
eyes from Sara's face.
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