"Oh, I don't want to," replied Marion, much to Miss Christine's surprise. "Rose kicks awfully. Ask Florence."
"Will she be any less likely to kick Florence than you?" asked Miss Christine, quietly.
"No, I suppose not; but you know Florence won't mind, as long as it's for Rachel."
"And you would, I am sorry to say."
"I suppose it's no use for me to offer," said Sarah, "for that would leave Jennie all alone, and she's an awful coward."
"No, I thank you," said Miss Christine, as she left the room; "I will ask Florence."
Marion said nothing; she went on setting the table and talking to Sarah, never in any way alluding to Rachel, and doing her best not to think of her, or reproach herself for having treated her so unkindly; but no matter what she did, she could not stifle the voice of conscience, and its whisperings were far from pleasant to hear.
That night, as she went up to bed, her better nature prompted her to step into Rachel's room, and ask her if she felt any better; but "No," she said to herself, "she will think it's all hypocrisy, and I won't do it."
She hurried and undressed herself as quickly as possible, so that she was already in bed when Florence came in to get her night-clothes to carry into Rose's room; but she did not speak or open her eyes. Florence moved round as quietly as possible, getting her things together, and then stepping to the bedside stooped down and kissed her friend; but Marion did not speak or move; so Florence, thinking she was asleep, turned out the gas, and left the room. When she was gone Marion buried her head in the pillow, and wept bitter, bitter tears.
It was a long time before she went to sleep, and then her rest was disturbed by frightful dreams; she thought the house was on fire; that she was safe, but Rachel and Florence were in the attic, where no one could reach them, and they must burn to death while she stood looking on.