"Well, Rachel."
Mrs. Ray was still rocking her chair, and had hardly yet repressed that faint gurgling sound of half-controlled sobs.
"I am so glad to hear you say that you—respect him, and don't believe of him what people have said."
"I don't believe a word bad of him, except that he oughtn't to take huff in that way at one word that a girl says to him. He ought to have known that you couldn't write just what letter you liked, as he could."
"We won't say anything more about that. But as long as you don't think him bad—"
"I don't think him bad. I don't think him bad at all. I think him very good. I'd give all I have in the world to bring him back again. So I would."
"Dear mamma!"
And now Rachel moved away from her chair and came up to her mother.
"And I know it's been all my fault. Oh, my child, I am so unhappy! I don't get half an hour's sleep at night thinking of what I have done;—I, that would have given the very blood out of my veins to make you happy."
"No, mamma; it wasn't you."