"I could not help leaving them. It was time. My presence there was sure to bring trouble and—and—don't ask me about it. Let me rest. Don't you understand that it has nearly killed me. It was great love that drove me away—nothing else. Still I did not mean to go just then. A few days would not have made so much difference, and they would have been heaven to me; oh, such heaven, such heaven, you cannot guess how precious every moment was at the last!"
"But why did you send for me?" questioned Agnes, gently. "Is it that you wish to go back?"
"Go back!" cried the poor girl, starting up with a flush of wild delight that faded away in an instant; "oh why did you say this cruel thing? It is too late—it is impossible; I can never go back, never, never, never!"
Lina fell back upon her pillows, and began to moan piteously, but made a brave attempt to stifle her sobs on the pillow.
"No, no, I did not send to you with that hope, only it was so hard to sit in this room day after day and hear nothing—not even that they hated me. I think that would have been better than this dull uncertainty. I only wanted to hear just one little word; my poor heart has asked for it so long, and now you tell me nothing."
"What can I tell you except that your flight has filled the whole household with grief and consternation."
"I knew it—I was sure they would feel the gloom, but that was better than remaining a curse and a shame to them all, you know."
"A curse and a shame, Miss French!" said Agnes, with dignity; "these are harsh words applied to one's-self. I hope you do not deserve them."
"Did I say shame?" cried Lina, starting up in affright; "well, well, if I did, it cannot reach him or wound poor mamma; as for me, why, it is not much matter, you know; the world does not care what becomes of a poor little girl like me."
A shade of compassion stole over Agnes Barker's face. She took Lina's hand in hers, and pressed it softly to her lips.