"Better tell him to take care that he does not lose up yonder all hope of return and marriage--forever!"
Edith gazed at her a few seconds, perplexed and startled, then indignantly exclaimed:
"I believe you are quite capable of wishing it. Is it possible that you still care for those savages, who have not troubled themselves about you since your childhood? Papa is perfectly right when he says you have no affection, no gratitude, in spite of all he has done for you."
A half bitter, half grieved expression hovered around Danira's lips as she heard these reproaches. "Gratitude!" she repeated, in a low tone. "You do not know how hard a duty gratitude is, when it is required."
Spite of the sharp tone there was something in the words which disarmed Edith's anger. Stealing to her companion's side, she laid her hand on her arm.
"And I?" she asked in a voice of mingled reproach and entreaty, "am I nothing to you?"
Danira looked down at the rosy blooming face, and her tone involuntarily softened.
"You are much to me, Edith. But--we do not understand each other and never shall."
"Because you are inaccessible and self-contained as a book with seven seals. I have always been a friend, a sister to you. You would never be the same to me."
The reproach must have struck home, for Danira's head drooped as if she were conscious of guilt.