'How is mother?' I asked.
She closed her lips firmly, and looked at me seriously and reproachfully. I rebelled against that look; my heart was full almost to bursting.
'Why don't you and those who were my friends say what you think of me?' I demanded bitterly. 'Why don't you say at once that I am to blame for all that has occurred, and that I, and I only, am the cause of all this misery?'
'I don't say so,' she replied gently, 'because I don't think so.'
'But you look at me as if it were so,' I said loudly; 'you and all the others. You have fair words and fair excuses for every one but me----'
She placed her fingers on her lips. 'Hush!' she said; 'don't be cruel as well as unjust.'
Her hand was on my arm, and I shook it off roughly. 'Who is the just one? Uncle Bryan? I will talk to you no more. How is mother?'
'Go up and see; but tread softly. You are not the only sufferer--remember that.'
I went upstairs, and into my mother's room, softly. Josey West followed me.
'Mother,' I said.