WYLDER'S BAJVD.
137
Women can hide their pain better than we men, and
bear it better, too, except when shame drops fire into the
dreadful chalice. But poor Rachel Lake had more than
that stoical hypocrisy which enables the tortured spirits
of her sex to lift a pale face through the flames and
smile.
She was sanguine, she was genial and companionable,
and her spirits rose at the sight of a friendly face. This
transient spring and lighting up are beautiful — a glamour
beguiling our senses.
"Rachel, dear, I'm so glad to see you," said Dorcas,
placing her arms gently about her neck, and kissing her
twice or thrice. There was something of sweetness and
fondness in her tones and manner, which was new to
Rachel, and she returned the greeting as kindly, and felt
more like her former self. "You have been more ill than
I thought, darling, and you are still from quite recover-
ed."
Rachel's pale and sharpened features and dilated eye
struck her with a painful surprise.
"I shall soon be as well as I am ever likely to be — that
is, quite well," answered Rachel. "You have been very
kind. I've heard of your coming here, and sending, so
often."
They sat down side by side, and Dorcas held her
hand.
"Maybe, Rachel dear, you would like to drive a
little?"
"No, darling, not yet; it is very good of you."
"You have been so ill, my poor Rachel."
"111 and troubled, denr —troubled in mind, and misera-
bly nervous."
Poor Rachel! her nature recoiled from deceit, and she
told, at all events as much of the truth a*s she dared.