From Out the Old Life
speak when the soft tones of an organ rolled through the open chapel windows, in a few chords, struck by a strong hand. Then a voice, deep, rich, and powerful, floated out to them in the notes of an "Ave Maria" they both knew and loved. The invalid's face paled as she listened, and her drooping form straightened.
"Did you know that?" she asked, suddenly. "Did you know that Sister Raymond is to take my place in the choir?"
"Only for a little while," Sister George said, hastily. "Only until you grow well and strong."
"Until I grow well and strong," the other repeated, slowly. There was something almost bitter in her voice and in the curve of her lips.
"I shall never be well and strong again, my dear." She stumbled a little in this first confidence over the last two words, so seldom used between them.
"I shall never be well," she repeated, quietly. "You know it; they all know it, and I know it, too, although they seem to think I do not. That is why they have put Sister Raymond in my place. My voice is gone. I shall never sing again."
The voice that had been so beautiful broke a little. Sister George did not speak. Sister Edgar waited a moment for the words that
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