‘Then, if you don’t believe it, why can’t you send one word to comfort him?’
She wept in silence for some moments; at last she said,—
‘It would not comfort him to think me disobedient. He will trust me without, and he will know what you think. You are very kind, dear Charlie; but don’t persuade me any more, for I can’t bear it. I am going away now; but don’t fancy I am angry, only I don’t think I can sit by while you write that letter.’
Poor little Amy, she seldom knew worse pain than at that moment, when she was obliged to go away to put it out of her power to follow the promptings of her heart to send the few kind words which might prove that nothing could shake her love and trust.
A fresh trial awaited her when she looked from her own window. She saw Deloraine led out, his chestnut neck glossy in the sun and William prepared for a journey, and the other servants shaking hands, and bidding him good-bye. She saw him ride off, and could hardly help flying back to her brother to exclaim, ‘O Charlie, they have sent Deloraine away!’ while the longing to send one kind greeting became more earnest than ever; but she withstood it, and throwing herself on the bed, exclaimed,—
‘He will never come back—never, never!’ and gave way, unrestrainedly, to a fit of weeping; nor was it till this had spent itself that she could collect her thoughts.
She was sitting on the side of her bed trying to compose herself, when Laura, came in.
‘My own Amy—my poor, dearest,—I am very sorry!’
‘Thank you, dear Laura,’ and Amy gladly rested her aching head on her shoulder.
‘I wish I knew what to do for you!’ proceeded Laura. ‘You cannot, cease to think about him, and yet you ought.’