"The truth is, you won't trust me," he said bitterly.
"I can't, father," she answered, the sound of tears in her voice. "You know I can't. Mrs. Fowler gave me the money on purpose for our bread account, and I must know it's paid. Oh, it was kind of her!"
"Yes, it was," he admitted, adding with unexpected candour, "There never should have been need for her to do it; but your father's a good-for-naught. Yes, Salome, that's what everybody says. Folks pity you an' blame me. I know Mrs. Fowler has done this for your sake."
"And for yours too, father. Oh, yes, I am certain of that. She told me to go on loving you, and—"
"Did she though?" Josiah interposed in extreme surprise. "Well, you do amaze me. She's a real kind lady, anyway, and has proved herself our true friend."
[CHAPTER XIV.]
A Stormy Night.
"HARK! What's that, Miss Conway? It sounds like a dog howling. There it is again!" And the speaker, Margaret Fowler, put down the book she had been reading, and rising from her chair by the fireplace, went to the window, and peered into the darkness.
The governess and her two pupils were spending the hours between tea-time and supper in the schoolroom at Greystone. A very pleasant apartment it was, comfortably carpeted and curtained, with a bright wood fire burning in the grate. Miss Conway glanced up from her needlework as Margaret spoke, whilst Gerald ceased playing with the cat on the hearthrug and listened for a few moments.
"I don't hear anything," the latter said.