"I can quite believe that. She is not one given to complaining about
herself, but one who strives to soothe the complaints of others. The
good she does in her quiet way among the poor is something wonderful. I
must tell you what an old bed-ridden man, to whom she had been very
kind, said to her the other day. Said he, 'If everybody had their rights
in this world, ma'am, or if I was king of fairyland, you should have a
pair of angel's wings, so that everybody might know how good you are.'
And there are a hundred others who would say the same thing."

"If I had not had her dear letters to hearten me and cheer me up, I
think that many a time I should have broken down utterly under the
dreadful monotony of my life at the Pension Clissot. I had no holidays,
in the common meaning of the word; no dear friends to go and see; none
even to come once in a way to see me, were it only for one happy hour. I
had no home recollections to which I could look back fondly in memory,
and the future was all a blank--a mystery. But the letters of Sister
Agnes spoke to me like the voice of a dear friend. They purified me,
they lifted me out of my common work-a-day troubles and all the petty
meannesses of school-girl existence, and set before me the example of a
good and noble life as the one thing worth striving for in this weary
world."

"Tut, tut, my dear child!" said the Major, "you are far too young to
call the world a weary world. Please heaven, it shall not be quite such
a dreary place for you in time to come. We will begin the change this
very evening. We shall just be in time to get a bit of dinner, and then,
heigh! for the play."

"The play, dear Major Strickland!" said Janet, with a sudden flush and