“He’ll get the truth and the whole truth from me, dearie.”
“Don’t scold him, Janet. I love him very much. It is not his fault.”
“I don’t know that.”
“No, it is not. I wasn’t home to Braelands two days before Madame began to make fun of my talk, and my manners, and my dress, and of all I did and said. And she got Archie to tell me I must mind her, and try to learn how to be a fine lady like her; and I could not—I could not. And then she set Archie against me, and I was scolded just for nothing at all. And then I got ill, and she said I was only sulky and awkward; but I just could not learn the books I be to learn, nor walk as she showed me how to walk, nor talk like her, nor do anything at all she tried to make me do. Oh, the weary, weary days that I have fret myself through! Oh, the long, painful nights! I am thankful they can never, never come back.”
“Then don’t think of them now, Sophy. Try and rest yourself a bit, and to-morrow you shall tell me everything.”
“To-morrow will be too late, can’t you see that, Janet? I must clear myself to-night—now—or you won’t know what to say to Archie.”
“Was Archie kind to you, Sophy?”
“Sometimes he was that kind I thought I must be in the wrong, and then I tried again harder than ever to understand the weary books and do what Madame told me. Sometimes they made him cross at me, and I thought I must die with the shame and heartache from it. But it was not till Marion Glamis came back that I lost all hope. She was Archie’s first love, you know.”
“She was nothing of the kind. I don’t believe he ever cared a pin for her. You had the man’s first love; you have it yet, if it is worth aught. He was here seeking you, dearie, and he was distracted with the loss of you.”
“In the morning you will send for him, Janet, very early; and though I’ll be past talking then, you will talk for me. You will tell him how Madame tortured me about the Glamis girl, how she kept my letters, and made Mrs. Stirling think I was not in my right mind,” and so between paroxysms of pain and coughing, she went over and over the sad story of petty wrongs that had broken her heart, and driven her at last to rebellion and flight.