She was up too, the fiery little school-teacher, and they faced each other—the tall girl, white as lily grown in a king's garden, and the little snub-nosed, freckled country schoolma'am.
"Do you mean when I used the word 'impossible,'" asked Angela, "that he thought I meant it in such a way—meant to tell him that he was an impossible person?"
"Yes, I do mean just that."
"You're sure of what you say?"
"Dreadfully sure. When I'd got that much out of him—somehow. I hardly know how—I felt wounded and sore, as I knew he was feeling, and, would feel all the rest of his life. Oh, I'd have given mine for him! I would then, and I would now, to make him happy. That's why I came up here—to find out whether, after all, there could be any misunderstanding between you that could be righted. He doesn't know I've come. He thinks I'm staying with a friend in San Francisco. I don't want him to know, ever. I should die of shame. I wish I could talk in some wise, clever way to you, and get you to see what a mistake you've made. He loves you so, Mrs. May!"
Then a thing happened which was the last that Sara Wilkins had expected. With a stifled cry Angela turned away, and, covering her face with both hands, sobbed as if her heart would break.
The little school-teacher trembled all over. She had come here—giving her time and money—far more than she could afford—and her nerve-tissue, in Nick Hilliard's cause; and all in the hope of making his "star" see the error of her ways. But when the cruel star broke down and cried uncontrollably, in anguish of soul, the hardness and anger which Nick's champion had cherished melted into pity.
"I do hope you'll forgive me," she stammered. "I—I didn't mean to make you suffer like this. I'm so afraid I've done everything all wrong! But I let my feelings carry me away. I thought if you loved him a little after all, maybe——"
"Loved him! I love him so much that it's killing me!" Angela broke out through her tears. "I can't sleep at night, for thinking of him, longing for him, and telling myself it's all over—all the joy of waking up to a new day and knowing I shall see him. Ah, night is terrible! I pray for peace, and just as I begin to hope—to be a little calmer, at least by day, out in the sunshine looking at the white mountains, you, a stranger, come and tell me that I don't love him!"
"I wouldn't have dared if I didn't love him myself," Sara retorted, choking on the words. "You see—I know. But if you care for him like this, if you're so unhappy without him, why did you send him away broken-hearted?"