“Hate you!” repeated Florence, through her shut teeth. “Yes, I hate you! But it is your turn now to triumph. Go and proclaim your discovery!”
“It is strange that you hate me so!” said Susan, with a sigh.
“You have treated me, ever since we met, with such unvarying kindness that it is ungrateful, I suppose. You have pointed out my faults in so sweet a spirit and tried so hard to make me better! It is strange that I do not love you!” said Florence, sneeringly.
Susan was speechless. There was a germ of truth in these words. Her conscience smote her.
But if she had erred in her conduct towards Florence, was that a sufficient excuse for all her unkindness,—for so contemptible a plot to injure her in the estimation of her schoolmates?
All that she had suffered rose before her,—her wretched days, her sleepless nights! All these she owed to Florence.
“It is only justice to myself to expose her,” she thought.
“Love your enemies; bless them that curse you; do good to them which hate you; pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you,” came to her mind.
It was a terrible struggle, but a short one. She approached Florence and put the essay in her hand.
“Your secret is safe,” she said.