"Ah, why!" answered Rachael, and the two plaintive words sank deep into that young heart.
"And why does he treat Hepworth, your own brother, so cruelly?"
"Has he done that? Oh, no, no!"
"Yes, mamma Rachael. We both love him so much; but he is very hard with us just now. I thought he would love Hepworth for your sake."
"Ah! I thought so too. It was my last dream."
"And my first," said Clara, with girlish tears in her eyes. "He was very angry—they were both angry. I think he meant to insult Hepworth and drive him away, knowing how proud he is, and he will do it. Oh, mamma Rachael, I am so miserable!"
"Miserable!" cried Rachael, looking gloomily into that fair young face. "Poor child! you have no idea what misery is. God forbid that you ever should!"
"Is not this misery? Papa against me, Hepworth looking so proud and stormy. You. Oh! mamma, I feel for you so much. Indeed, you look more unhappy than I am; but it is hard."
"Hush, dear! That is your father's voice."
"Yes, how low and cutting. I cannot stand it. He is coming this way. I will go to my room."