"Yas'm, I tole John jes' like you axed me. Now, I'se done got de las' one er dese things packed, en I'se gwine ter let you git some sleep." She put out the light while she spoke, and then went out softly, leaving the room in darkness.
"Why should she have done it? Why should she have done it?" asked Caroline over and over, until the words became a refrain that beat slowly, with a rhythmic rise and fall, in her thoughts: "Why should she have done it? I thought her so good and beautiful. I would have worked my fingers to the bone for her if she had only been kind to me. Why should she have done it? I should always have taken her part against Mr. Blackburn, against Mrs. Timberlake, against Mammy Riah. It would have been so easy for her to have kept my love and admiration. It would have cost her nothing. Why should she have done it? There is nothing she can gain by this, and it isn't like her to do a cruel thing unless there is something she can gain. She likes people to admire her and believe in her. That is why she has taken so much trouble to appear right before the world, and to make Mr. Blackburn appear wrong. Admiration is the breath of life to her, and—and—oh, why should she have done it? I must go to sleep. I must put it out of my mind. If I don't put it out of my mind, I shall go mad before morning. I ought to be glad to leave Briarlay. I ought to want to go, but I do not. I do not want to go. I feel as if I were tearing my heart to pieces. I cannot bear the thought of never seeing the place again—of never seeing Letty again. Why should she have done it?——"
In the morning, when she was putting on her hat, Mrs. Timberlake came in with a breakfast tray in her hands.
"Sit down, and try to eat something, Caroline. I thought you would rather have a cup of coffee up here."
Caroline shook her head. "I couldn't touch a morsel in this house. I feel as if it would choke me."
"But you will be sick before you get home. Just drink a swallow or two."
Taking the cup from her, Caroline began drinking it so hurriedly that the hot coffee burned her lips. "Yes, you are right," she said presently. "I cannot fight unless I keep up my strength, and I will fight to the bitter end. I will not let her hurt me. I am poor and unknown, and I work for my living, but the world is mine as much as hers, and I will not give in. I will not let life conquer me."
"You aren't blaming David, are you, dear?"
"Oh, no, I am not blaming Mr. Blackburn. He couldn't have helped it." Her heart gave a single throb while she spoke; and it seemed to her that, in the midst of the anguish and humiliation, something within her soul, which had been frozen for years, thawed suddenly and grew warm again. It was just as if a statue had come to life, as if what had been marble yesterday had been blown upon by a breath of the divine, and changed into flesh. For eight years she had been dead, and now, in an instant, she was born anew, and had entered afresh into her lost heritage of joy and pain.
Mrs. Timberlake, gazing at her through dulled eyes, was struck by the intensity of feeling that glowed in her pale face and in the burning blue of her eyes. "I didn't know she could look like that," thought the housekeeper. "I didn't know she had so much heart." Aloud she said quietly, "David and I are going to the train with you. That is why I put on my bonnet."