‘Lucy, dear child, you are ill!’
‘I don’t know what is the matter with me,’ said a husky, stifled voice; ‘I meant it—I wanted it. I longed after it when it was out of reach, but now—’
‘What, my dear?’ asked Honor, appalled at the effort with which she spoke.
‘Your pardon!’ and with a pressure of hands and contraction of the brow as of physical agony, she exclaimed, ‘Honor, Honor, forgive me!’
Honor held out her arms, she flung herself prone into them, and wept. Tears were with her an affection as violent as rare, and her sobs were fearful, heaving her little fragile frame as though they would rend it, and issuing in short cries and gasps of anguish. Honor held her in her arms all the time, much alarmed, but soothing and caressing, and in the midst, Lucilla had not lost all self-control, and though unable to prevent the paroxysm, restrained it as much as possible, and never attempted to speak; but when her friend laid her down, her whole person still quivering with the long swell of the last uncontrollable sobbing, she looked up with the sweetest smile ever seen by Honor, who could not help thinking that such a sight might have met the eyes of the mother who found the devil gone out and her daughter laid on the bed.
The peace was such that neither could bear to speak for many seconds. At last Lucy said, ‘Dear Honor.’
‘Lie down by me; please put your arms round me. There! Oh! it is so comfortable. Why did I never find it out before? I wish I could be a little child, and begin again from the time my father made me over to you.’
‘Lucy, we all would begin again if we could. I have come to the perception how often I exasperated you.’
‘An angel who did his duty by me would have exasperated me in your place.’