Claire commenced to sob again, but Rosanna tenderly coaxed her into bed and clasped her tight.
Claire did not speak; she lay in Rosanna's arms sobbing as though her heart were broken.
Rosanna did not speak, and at last Claire controlled herself.
"I was sure you were sound asleep," she said, "or I would have gone down into the study, but I hate to go around the house in the night. It frightens me."
"I should think it would," said Rosanna, staring into the dark and hugging Claire closer.
"But I get to thinking and I can't sleep. I suppose that is why I am so much paler than most of the girls. I am awake so much, because I am too unhappy to sleep."
"But that is all wrong," said Rosanna. "Why are you so unhappy, Claire?"
"Can't you guess, Rosanna?"
"Is it your mother?" asked Rosanna.
Claire shivered violently. "Yes," she breathed.
"Oh, Claire!" said Rosanna, her own tears wetting Claire's forehead.
"Oh, Claire, is it as bad as that? Is your mother so _dreadfully_ ill? I thought she just had nervous prostration or something like that. That is what most people have, isn't it? I am so sorry! So dreadfully sorry!
Perhaps there is a mistake. Sometimes doctors think people are awfully sick and going to--going to die, and then they get well as ever."
Claire laughed a sudden, jangling, harsh laugh that frightened Rosanna more than her sobs. She turned her lips close to Rosanna's ear, as though she hated to breathe aloud the words she struggled to utter.
"Mother is not going to die," she said finally. "She is insane!"
CHAPTER XI
Rosanna gave a little cry of sympathy and pain, but she did not speak and Rosanna simply held her close and patted her back, whispering, "There, there!" over and over until at last the cries subsided, and Claire, spent and tired, lay quite still.
"Are they _sure_ they can't cure her?" Rosanna whispered finally.
"There is no hope," said Claire. "She seems to get worse all the time.
She scarcely knows daddy now, and doesn't seem to care whether he comes to see her or not. For a long time she wanted to see him."
"Did she know what the matter was?" asked Rosanna.
"No, not that we know, only she is so sad, when she is herself, that daddy thinks she knows."
"Oh, I do feel _sure_ that she will get well!" said Rosanna.
Claire sadly shook her head.
"There is no hope," she repeated. "We have had doctor after doctor, all the big specialists, and they can't do a _thing_. And oh, Rosanna, she was _so_ pretty and so bright! We were _so_ happy!"
"How did you find out about it?"
"She commenced to have headaches," said Claire, then added haltingly, as though she could not bear to tell even Rosanna about it, "and she grew so angry about everything: awfully angry, so daddy was afraid she might hurt me. She did once or twice, but I never told. She just hit me with things, you know. Then the doctors said she must go away, my pretty, pretty, loving mother, who used to love me so! Why, she was _never_ happy for a single minute unless daddy or I was with her. And she used to be so full of fun and tricks, just like a little girl. And oh, Rosanna, now I have to think of my mother in a sanitarium, with just nurses to look after her. Daddy's heart has broken and so has mine. And, Rosanna, that is not all. I am going insane, too."
After a stupefied pause, Rosanna bounced violently up on her knees and shook Claire roughly.
"Claire, _what_ a thing to say!" she exclaimed. "How _can_ you say anything like that? Never, NEVER say it again."
"It doesn't matter whether I say it or not," said Claire, "it is going to happen, and it will kill daddy. Why, Rosanna, I have the most awful tempers you ever dreamed of and when they come on I don't know or care what I do or say. I feel too awfully afterwards, of course, but I go into a sort of frenzy and can't control myself. I hate to tell you all this, Rosanna; you will not understand it perhaps, but if I do not tell someone, I shall die! I cannot bear it alone any longer. We have kept it so quiet about mother. No one in the Army suspects. We always say she has had a nervous breakdown."
"Well, I can never tell you, Claire, dear, how dreadfully I feel about it all," said Rosanna, kissing her friend's wet cheek. "But I am glad you have told me. We will bear it together, and I am sure that will make it easier for you. And as far as you are concerned, I am perfectly sure that is nothing at all but imagination." She slid down and once more took Claire's head on her loving little arm. "You are so tired, dear,"
she said. "Let us rest awhile, and then when you feel better, I will tell you about _my_ mother and father. Wouldn't you like to hear about them?"
"I would love to," said Claire. "Oh, it _is_ easier to bear now that you are sharing it with me," she murmured.
"Rest," said Rosanna softly, catching a sleepy note in the tired voice.
Then suddenly, "Where is your mother now?"
"At a place called Laurel Hill Home, just outside of Cincinnati," said Claire, and in two minutes her regular heavy breathing told Rosanna that she was sound asleep.
And in about two minutes more two girls, cuddled close, were dreamlessly sleeping.
When they woke the following morning they found the blinds drawn so there was a soft twilight in the room, but on the pavement outside they could hear the shuffle and patter of many feet going to the Christian Science temple near by.
Claire rubbed her sleepy eyes, then leaned over and patted Rosanna.
"Will you ever forgive me for keeping you awake all night?" she asked wistfully. "What a _selfish_ girl I am!"
"Indeed, you are not!" declared Rosanna. "Goodness me, what time is it?
Do I hear people going past to church?"
"You do," laughed Claire.
"Well, I was sure we put up all the shades before we went to bed."
"We did, but daddy closed them before he went up to Camp. He always does that if he thinks I had better sleep late, and leaves a letter for me.
He is _so_ good, Rosanna. I wish he had a nicer child."
"Well, I suppose one can be almost any way one _wants_ to me," replied Rosanna. "I was so bad and ungrateful once that I'm sure anyone who wants to try can change themselves. I am not so very good yet, but I can't help knowing that I am much nicer than I was." Both girls laughed.
"Yes, I am sure you are very nice, indeed," said Claire. "I could never be as nice as you are."
"Don't make fun of me," pouted Rosanna, her eyes twinkling. "Let's hurry up and go to church. The Christian Science Church has service an hour sooner than the others, so we will have time if we rush."
They _did_ rush, and a brisk walk brought them to the arched door of the old ivy-covered church just as the long line of choir boys walked slowly down the aisle.
Rosanna heard nothing of the very excellent sermon. It was the first time she had had to think quietly of what Claire had told her in the night. She went over it all carefully, her tender heart aching for the poor girl beside her. If there was only _something_ she could do. She wanted to help. But what could anyone do in a case like this? If all those wise doctors said that there was no help for poor Mrs. Maslin, surely there was nothing for a poor little Girl Scout to do.
Finally she closed her eyes tight, very tight, and a fervent little prayer for guidance squeezed itself out of her heavy heart.