"Angela, Angela! You must not scorn the gifts of the gods! No, No!--
you will not let me say anything--you forbid me to express my
thoughts fully, and I know you are not well enough to hear me yet--
but one day you WILL know!--you will hear,--you will even be
thankful for all the sorrow you have passed through,--and meanwhile,
dear, dearest Angela, do not be ungrateful!"
She said the word boldly yet hesitatingly, bending over the couch
tenderly, her eyes full of light, and a smile on her lips. And
taking up a knot of daffodils she swept their cool blossoms softly
across Angela's burning forehead, murmuring--
"Do not be ungrateful!"
"Ungrateful--!" echoed Angela,--and she moved restlessly.
"Yes, darling! Do not say you wish you never had received the great
gifts God has given you. Do not judge of things by Sorrow's
measurement only. I repeat--you ARE loved--though not perhaps where
you most relied on love. Your father loves you--your uncle loves
you--Manuel loves you . . ."
Angela interrupted her with a protesting gesture.
"Yes--I know," she murmured, "but--"
"But you think all this love is worthless, as compared with a love
that was no love at all?" said Sylvie. "There! We will not speak
about it any more just now,--you are not strong, and you see things
in their darkest light.
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