I had heard my Ada crying at the door, day and night; I had heard her calling to me that I was cruel and did not love her; I had heard her praying and imploring to be let in to nurse and comfort me and to leave my bedside no more; but I had only said, when I could speak, "Never, my sweet girl, never!" and I had over and over again reminded Charley that she was to keep my darling from the room whether I lived or died. Charley had been true to me in that time of need, and with her little hand and her great heart had kept the door fast.
But now, my sight strengthening and the glorious light coming every day more fully and brightly on me, I could read the letters that my dear wrote to me every morning and evening and could put them to my lips and lay my cheek upon them with no fear of hurting her. I could see my little maid, so tender and so careful, going about the two rooms setting everything in order and speaking cheerfully to Ada from the open window again. I could understand the stillness in the house and the thoughtfulness it expressed on the part of all those who had always been so good to me. I could weep in the exquisite felicity of my heart and be as happy in my weakness as ever I had been in my strength.
By and by my strength began to be restored. Instead of lying, with so strange a calmness, watching what was done for me, as if it were done for some one else whom I was quietly sorry for, I helped it a little, and so on to a little more and much more, until I became useful to myself, and interested, and attached to life again.

I had heard my Ada crying at the door, day and night, calling to me that I was cruel and did not love her; I had heard her imploring to be let in to nurse and comfort me; but I had only said, when I could speak, "Never, my sweet girl, never!" and had reminded Charley that she was to keep my darling from the room whether I lived or died. Charley had been true to me and had kept the door fast.
But now, my sight strengthening and the glorious light coming every day more brightly on me, I could read the letters that my dear wrote daily to me and could put them to my lips and lay my cheek upon them. I could see my little maid, so tender and careful, setting everything in order and speaking cheerfully to Ada from the open window. I could understand the stillness in the house and the thoughtfulness it expressed on the part of all those who had always been so good to me. I could weep in my exquisite joy and be as happy in my weakness as ever I had been in my strength.
By and by my strength began to be restored. Instead of lying and watching what was done for me, as if it were done for some one else, I helped it a little, and a little more, until I became useful to myself, and attached to life again.
