her, and she felt bitterly the terrible contrast between these hot lonely
afternoons and those which she used to spend with him under the cool shade
of the lindens. Then she thought of that glorious sunset, and of her
father, as he stood transfigured in the golden light. She remembered his
comforting words, his assurance that some day they two and the mother
would stand thus together, shining in the eternal light of Heaven. But
Dora sighed at the thought of the long weary time before she should join
them, unless indeed some accident should happen to her, or she should fall
ill and die, from this too heavy task of shirt-making. After all, her best
consolation was her father's verse; and then too, he had been so sure of
its truth:

"God holds us in his hand,
God knows the best to send."

She believed it too; and as she repeated the lines to herself, her heart
grew lighter, and even her needle moved more easily, as if inspired by the
cheering thoughts. Yet the days were long and wearisome, and their
stillness followed her when she went home to her uncle and aunt.

She reached home just in time for supper. Uncle Titus always held the
newspaper before his face, and read and ate behind its ample shelter. Aunt
Ninette spoke in whispers all the while, and asked only the most necessary
questions, in order not to disturb her husband. Dora said little; and less
every day, as she grew accustomed to this silent life. Even when she came
home from school at noon for the short interval before the time for her
sewing lessons, there was no need to caution her against noise; for the
child moved ever less and less like a living being, and grew more like a
shadow day by day.