"Hepworth—Mr. Closs, I mean. Oh, mamma! he threatens to leave us here all alone by ourselves—the most cruel thing that ever was heard of. I thought how angry you would be, and came at once. You can do anything with him—he loves you so dearly. Let him threaten if he likes, but you will not let him go. You will tell him how foolish, how cruel it is to leave us, while papa is away. Oh! mamma Rachael, you can do anything! Do this! Do this!"
"But why, darling—why do you care so much?"
"Why! why!" Clara threw back her head till the curls waved away from her shoulders, then a burning crimson came over her, the shamed face drooped again, and she answered: "I don't know—I don't know."
Rachael bent her face till it almost touched that hot cheek, and whispered:
"Is it that you love him, my own Clara?"
Again Clara lifted her face. A strange light came upon it. Her lips were parted, her blue eyes opened wide.
"Love him—love him? Oh! mamma Rachael, is this love?"
Rachael smiled, and kissed that earnest face, holding it between both hands.
"I think it is, darling. Nay, I am sure that you love him, and that he loves you."
"Loves me? Then why does he go away? I should think so but for that."