"Come to the bed with me, mamma. Your hand is cold; it touches mine like snow. That is right; put your arms around me. Poor, poor mamma! how your heart struggles! There, there; the chill is going off. We will get each other warm; for we love each other, you and I, mamma Rachael; nothing on this earth can change that!"
Rachael allowed herself to be taken to the bed; but she trembled violently.
"You are troubled about Hepworth; but I have promised—I do promise. Papa, nor all the world to help him, could change me. Besides, there is another thing; we both love him; that would make us cling together, if nothing else," said Clara.
"Ah, there it is—there it is! Hepworth is gone, and neither you nor I must ever see him again!" answered Rachael.
"But we will! He loves us. I will marry him some day, if I live."
"Oh, no, no! That can never be! Never! never!"
Rachael was fearfully agitated. Clara tore her form from those clinging arms.
"What! you?—you turned against us—you!" she exclaimed, pushing Rachael back from her pillow, and sitting up in the moonlight. "Has my father driven us all crazy?"
"Hush, child, hush! I have been thinking of that. It seems to me that I am mad already. Be kind; oh, be kind! Do not urge me on. To-night I have had such thoughts!"
The girl was frightened; for Rachael was bending over, and the fire of her great black eyes seemed hot as it was terrible.