Oh how long the miles were! how
weary I was, with my back aching, and trying to find a
comfortable corner in the carriage; how I wanted to lie down
on the soft cushions in the pew and go to sleep during the
service. And when the miles home were finished, it seemed to
me that so was I. Then I used to pray to have strength in the
evening to read with the people. And I always had it; or at
least I always did it. I never failed; though the rest of the
Sunday hours were often spent on the bed. But indeed, that
Sunday evening reading was the one thing that saved my life
from growing, or settling, into a petrifaction. Those hours
gave me cheer, and some spirit to begin again on Monday
morning.
However, I was not thriving. I know I was losing colour, and
sinking in strength, day by day; yet very gradually; so that
my governess never noticed it. My aunt sometimes on her return
from an absence that had been longer than common, looked at me
uneasily.
"Miss Pinshon, what ails that child?" she would ask.
My governess said, "nothing.
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