Elizabeth

Becky's heart told her that it was best that people in trouble should be left alone.

The second of the trio of comforters was Ermengarde, but odd things happened before Ermengarde found her place.

When Sarah's mind seemed to awaken again to the life about her, she realized she had forgotten that Ermengarde lived in the world.

The two had always been friends, but Sarah had felt as if she were years the older.

It could not be contested that Ermengarde was as dull as she was affectionate.

She clung to Sarah in a simple, helpless way.

She brought her lessons to her that she might be helped.

She listened to her every word and besieged her with requests for stories.

But she had nothing interesting to say herself, and she loathed books of every description.

She was, in fact, not a person one would remember when one was caught in the storm of a great trouble, and Sarah forgot her.

It had been all the easier to forget her because she had been suddenly called home for a few weeks.

When she came back, she did not see Sarah for a day or two.

And when she met her for the first time, she encountered her coming down a corridor with her arms full of garments which were to be taken downstairs to be mended.

Sarah herself had already been taught to mend them.

She looked pale and unlike herself, and she was attired in the queer, outgrown frock whose shortness showed so much thin black leg.

Ermengarde was too slow a girl to be equal to such a situation.

She could not think of anything to say.

She knew what had happened, but somehow she had never imagined Sarah could look like this.

So odd and poor and almost like a servant.

It made her quite miserable, and she could do nothing but break into a short, hysterical laugh and exclaim aimlessly and as if without any meaning.