"Then you aren't here on charity?"
"Charity! No, indeed! Mr. Palma is my guardian until I go to my mother."
"Well, miss, try to be contented. Miss Olga has a kinder heart than her mother, and though she has a bitter tongue and rough ways she will befriend you. Don't fret about your dog, we folks belowstairs will see that he does not suffer. We will help you take care of him."
"Thank you, Hattie. I shall be grateful to all who are kind to him.
Please give him some water and a piece of bread when you go down."
It was a great relief to find herself once more alone, and, sinking down wearily into a rocking chair, she hid her face in her hands.
Her heart was heavy, her head ached; her soul rose in rebellion against the cold selfishness and discourtesy that had characterized her reception by the inmates of her guardian's house.
Everything around her betokened wealth, taste, elegance; the carpets and various articles of furniture were of the most costly materials, but at the thought of living here she shuddered. Fine and fashionable in all its appointments, but chilly, empty, surface gilded, she felt that she would stifle in this mansion.
By comparison, how dear and sacred seemed the old life at the parsonage I how desolate and dreary the present! how inexpressibly lonely and hopeless the future!
From the thought of Mr. Palma's return, she could borrow no pleasant auguries, rather additional gloom and apprehension; and his absence had really been the sole redeeming circumstance that marked her arrival in New York. With an unconquerable dread which arose from early childish prejudice and which she never attempted to analyze, she shrank from meeting him.
There came a quick low rap on the door, but she neither heard nor heeded it, and started when a warm hand removed those that covered her face.