“What it is, Edith,” she made answer, crushing in her lips again, “is the open issue, bandaged o’er so that none knows it is there save He to whose eyes all things be open. Child, there be some things in life wherein the only safe confidant thou canst have is Jesu Christ. I say so much, by reason that thine elders think it best—and I likewise—that ye maids should be told somewhat more than ye have heard aforetime. Ay, I give full assent thereto. I only held out for one thing—that I, not your mother, should be she that were to tell it.”
We were silent a moment, and then Milisent stirred in her sleep. Aunt Joyce went to her.
“Awake, my dear heart?” saith she.
Milly sat up, and pushed aside her hair from her face, the which was flushed and sullen.
“Aunt Joyce, may the Lord forgive you for this day’s work!” saith she.
I was fair astonied that she should dare thus to speak. But Aunt Joyce was in no wise angered.
“Amen!” she saith, as softly as might be spoken. “Had I no worser sins to answer for, methinks I should stand the judgment.”
“No worser!” Milisent blazed forth. “What, you think it a light matter to part two hearts that love well and truly?”
“Nay, truly, I think it right solemn matter,” saith Aunt Joyce, still softly. “And if aught graver can be, Milly, it is to part two whereof the one loveth well, and the other—may God forgive us all!”
“What mean you now?” saith Milisent of the same fashion. “Is it my love you doubt, or his?”