Then she rose from the chair and turned away, pretending to trim
the brass oil-lamp with the little metal snuffers that hung from
it by a chain. The tears blinded her. She rested her hands upon
the table and bent her head. Faustina watched her in surprise,
then slipped from her place on the bed and stood beside her,
looking up tenderly into the sad dark eyes from which the crystal
drops welled up and trickled down, falling upon the rough deal
boards.
"What is it, dear?" asked the young girl. "Will you not tell me!"
Corona turned and threw her arms round her, pressing her to her
breast, almost passionately. Faustina did not understand what was
happening.
"I never saw you cry before!" she exclaimed in innocent
astonishment, as she tried to brush away the tears from her
friend's face.
"Ah Faustina! There are worse things in the world than you are
suffering, child!"
Then she made a great effort and overcame the emotion that had
taken possession of her. She was ashamed to have played such a
part when she had come to the place to give comfort to another.
"It is nothing," she said, after a moment's pause. "I think I am
nervous--at least, I am very foolish to let myself cry when I
ought to be taking care of you."
A long silence followed, which was broken at last by the nun, who
entered the room, bringing such poor food as the place afforded.
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