The usually gentle girl was strangely wrought up; and Amy, quite subdued, gave the required promise. She had to repeat it three times, before Bee was satisfied.
"And now will you go to bed? Will you try to rest, darling? And do believe that things are not so bad as you fancy. You will see it to-morrow morning."
"Oh yes,"—came languidly, not in assent.
"And I do think you will soon believe that I did not mean to be cruel!" That word had gone deep. "Bee darling, if you only knew one-half of how I love you, I think you could not suspect me of ever meaning to be unkind."
Bee was listlessly silent.
"One kiss," pleaded Amy. She folded the other in a warm grasp, and Bee again submitted; no more. Amy released her, sighing.
"Well, good-night, poor darling. I'm much more to be pitied than you are. I've done the harm, and that is worse than only having to bear it."
Met again by uncompromising silence, Amy stole away, closing the door with circumspection, lest Mrs. Major should hear. She lay awake in bed, tears dropping at intervals. Had she indeed forfeited Bee's love by her folly?
Sleep under the circumstances lay outside the range of possibilities. An hour passed; and another hour.
The house was very still. A tiny creak startled her; and then a soft footfall.