"Oh, I wish so much that you were indeed my mother, for then I could tell you how—how very unhappy I am."
Lady Phipps bent down, removed the bright hair from the young girl's forehead, and kissed it tenderly.
"I am your mother, darling; she who is dead could scarcely have loved you more; now tell me what this trouble is."
Elizabeth turned her face, and buried it in the lady's robe.
"This lady—this strange woman—this Barbara Stafford—oh, send her away!"
"Why, what of her, my child?—remember she is our invited guest, a stranger, and—"
"I know—I know all that, but she is killing me—she drinks up my life like a vampire."
"Like a vampire—that pleasant, noble woman! Why Bessy child, you must be ill!"
"There, there! she has fascinated you like the rest; I have nobody left to care about or pity me; she has dried up every little spring of love that I used to drink at, and nobody sees it."
Elizabeth rose to her feet, flinging back the curls from her face with both hands, and casting glances of reproach upon the lady.