“Rosina mia!” exclaimed Violante, with eyes opening wide, and accents of blank astonishment, and then a shower of kisses and questions.
She listened to the story with all the delight that Rosa had anticipated, and after every detail had been discussed between them there was a silence, as Violante sat in her favourite place, leaning against her sister’s knee.
“Now,” she said at last, “now Rosa, you can tell how hard—”
She paused, and Rosa could hardly help laughing.
“My dear child, I knew that long ago. Listen, Violante, I think it is good for you to know, I was older than you when my trouble came, and I think it was as bad as yours. Yet, you see, I am happy.”
“Did you know Mr Fairfax then?” eagerly said Violante.
“No, no,” said Rosa, “quite another person. It doesn’t signify who he was. It’s all gone now.”
“Oh, Rosina, was it when I was a tiresome little girl, and troubled you?”
“You were my one comfort, my darling, never any trouble. But, you see, I told you to show you that one day happiness may come to you, though quite in a different way from what you now fancy.”
Violante started up, clasping her hands. “No, no, Rosina! I will not be happy so! I would rather have my sorrow. There would be nothing left in my heart without it. If he is cruel, he cannot take that away!”