"That's right!" Muriel exclaimed, in accents of relief; adding in a lower tone, "Would it make you any the happier, really, if I tried to be a Christian?"
"Yes, indeed it would!"
"I will try, yes, I will! But I'm afraid I shall not succeed. You don't know what a naughty girl I am sometimes, how I worry poor Mrs. Jones, and tease the other servants. Then, too, during the term I don't learn my lessons half my time, and I make Miss Smith so cross. She said one day that I tried her temper more than any other girl in the school!"
Molly looked grave as Muriel made these avowals of misconduct. She had never before come across anyone who confessed faults so openly, and seemed to take them so little to heart. The fact was, the child had grown up selfish and wayward simply because she had had no one to correct her failings. The servants of her father's household had always looked on her as mischief-making and disagreeable, and, with the exception of Mrs. Jones, had found it expedient to keep her at a distance. Mrs. Jones from the first had pitied the lonely little girl, but she had not sufficient strength of character to guide her in any way, and her affection showed itself in petting and spoiling her, rather than in trying to uproot those characteristics which seemed likely to mar her happiness in life and make her generally disliked. No wonder Muriel had never been very happy.
Marigold had compelled her reluctant admiration and respect, by generously forgiving the faithless treatment she had dealt her; and, ashamed of her former treachery, Muriel had made diffident overtures of friendship, which had been accepted. This friendship had brought her more happiness than she had ever known in her life before, but with it had come an uneasy sense of her own unworthiness. The feeling of self-complacency that had been one of her chief attributes slowly fell away from her, and she saw herself as she really was. She had never cared for truth, but had always been accustomed to turn and twist a tale to suit her own purpose; she had not been above telling a lie, if she had considered it expedient to do so; but, daily brought in contact with a nature that scorned falsehood, and was faithful in even little things, doubts as to her own behaviour had not been long in appearing, then shame, and lately a strong desire to be different.
She sat in silence for a long while, her blue eyes gazing far out over the sea, whilst the lame girl watched her, wondering what thoughts were in her mind, and if she would be given strength to overcome those bad habits she had encouraged so long.
"Where is Mrs. Jones to-day?" Molly asked presently.
"Lying down on the sofa in the sitting-room," was the reply. "She said she had a dreadful headache, and could not come out in the sun. She often gets headaches like this."
"Poor thing!" in sympathising tones.
"Oh, she will be all right by and by."