She started up, and walked away as she spoke, her nerves were all on edge, her temper irritated, her conscience beginning to struggle with her sense of injury. The craving for Lucian came over her, as, with unconscious force, she said to herself, “like a flood of hot lava.” How could she think about other people? She escaped from the sight of Una, and walked along the little path across the fields, towards the village. Then the place recalled the beginning of her troubles. She had come this way to post the fatal letter which Sylvester Riddell had seen. She believed Sylvester to be her worst enemy, and it was with a sense of angry recoil that she saw his father and aunt coming to meet her. What part they had taken, if any, in her affairs, she did not know, and she had seen neither of them since the party at Loseby. Probably they thought that she was a bad girl, and would show it in their manner to her. She stiffened up her head, and would have passed with a bow; but the Rector, who was nearest to her, stopped, raised his hat, and held out his hand.
“How do you do, my dear?” he said in his kindest voice; “my sister was coming to ask a little favour of you.”
“It is this,” said Miss Riddell, without waiting for Amethyst to speak; “I want to interest some of the young girls about here in improving their minds. There are a good many in Cleverley without much object in life; I think some of them might be encouraged to work for an examination. As your experience is so fresh, and you were so successful, I wondered if you would come to tea to-morrow afternoon, and tell us a little about it.”
“So fresh?” Yes, only three months old; but what a fiery gulf seemed to roll between. Amethyst was quick enough to see that this proposal was meant most kindly as a link with her old life, and also, to show the neighbourhood that, in the opinion of the Rectory, Miss Haredale was an example to be followed, a companion to be desired.
She hesitated and was silent.
“The kindness would be very great,” said the Rector. Miss Riddell moved a little away, and he continued, “You have had a great trial, nothing seems attractive to you now. Will this be more than you are ready for?”
“I don’t feel as if I could remember about it,” said Amethyst, with a sudden impulse, the change in her face showing that she was still child enough to be touched by the first kind word.
“No, my dear, but don’t you think it would be good for you to recall it?”
“I can’t be good, I wasn’t made to be,” said Amethyst, in a tone which she thought was wickedly defiant, but which really showed confidence in her listener’s comprehension.
“No, my dear,” said the Rector again; “very few of us are. But we are all made to be a little better by effort, and prayer.”