She would not doubt, yet she could not help fearing,
and in her nightly prayer no petition was more fervently made than
that which asked the Father of both saint and sinner to keep poor
Rachel safe, and bring her back in his good time.
Never had she been so lonely as now, for Christie had a social
heart, and, having known the joy of a cordial friendship even for a
little while, life seemed very barren to her when she lost it. No
new friend took Rachel's place, for none came to her, and a feeling
of loyalty kept her from seeking one. But she suffered for the want
of genial society, for all the tenderness of her nature seemed to
have been roused by that brief but most sincere affection. Her
hungry heart clamored for the happiness that was its right, and grew
very heavy as she watched friends or lovers walking in the summer
twilight when she took her evening stroll. Often her eyes followed
some humble pair, longing to bless and to be blessed by the divine
passion whose magic beautifies the little milliner and her lad with
the same tender grace as the poet and the mistress whom he makes
immortal in a song. But neither friend nor lover came to Christie,
and she said to herself, with a sad sort of courage:
"I shall be solitary all my life, perhaps; so the sooner I make up
my mind to it, the easier it will be to bear.
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