An old man looked out of a den by the door, and told her to go straight
up the stairs to the third floor, and then turn to the right. The old
man chuckled as he glanced after her, and listened to the wooden shoes
pattering wearily up the broad stone steps.
Bebee climbed them--ten, twenty, thirty, forty. "He must be very poor!"
she thought, "to live so high"; and yet the place was wide and handsome,
and had a look of riches. Her heart beat so fast, she felt suffocated;
her limbs shook, her eyes had a red blood-like mist floating before them;
but she thanked God each step she climbed; a moment, and she would
look upon the only face she loved.
"He will be glad; oh, I am sure he will be glad!" she said to herself, as
a fear that had never before come near her touched her for a moment--if
he should not care?
But even then, what did it matter? Since he was ill she should be there
to watch him night and day; and when he was well again, if he should wish
her to go away--one could always die.
"But he will be glad--oh, I know he will be glad!" she said to the
rosebuds that she carried to him.
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