| PART 2
36. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
 When Jo came home that spring, she had been struck with
 the change in Beth.  No one spoke of it or seemed aware of it, 
 for it had come too gradually to startle those who saw her
 daily, but to eyes sharpened by absence, it was very plain and
 a heavy weight fell on Jo's heart as she saw her sister's face.
 It was no paler and but littler thinner than in the autumn, yet
 there was a strange, transparent look about it, as if the mortal
 was being slowly refined away, and the immortal shining through
 the frail flesh with an indescribably pathetic beauty.  Jo saw
 and felt it, but said nothing at the time, and soon the first
 impression lost much of its power, for Beth seemed happy, no
 one appeared to doubt that she was better, and presently in
 other cares Jo fora time forgot her fear. But when Laurie was gone, and peace prevailed again, the
 vague anxiety returned and haunted her.  She had confessed
 her sins and been forgiven, but when she showed her savings
 and proposed a mountain trip, Beth had thanked her heartily, 
 but begged not to go so far away from home.  Another little
 visit to the seashore would suit her better, and as Grandma
 could not be prevailed upon to leave the babies, Jo took Beth
 down to the quiet place, where she could live much in the
 open air, and let the fresh sea breezes blow a little color
 into her pale cheeks. It was not a fashionable place, but even among the pleasant
 people there, the girls made few friends, preferring to live for
 one another.  Beth was too shy to enjoy society, and Jo too
 wrapped up in her to care for anyone else.  So they were all in
 all to each other, and came and went, quite unconscious of the
 interest they exited in those about them, who watched with sympathetic
 eyes the strong sister and the feeble one, always
 together, as if they felt instinctively that a long separation
 was not far away. |