"Did it please thee now?"
"It brought the tears into my eyes," said I, not sorry for the excuse.
"They had not far to come, had they, little one?"
I looked up, and met her soft grey eyes. And—it was very silly of me, but—I burst into tears once more.
"It is always best to have a fit of weeping out," said she. "Thou wilt feel better for it, my child."
"But I had—had it out—once," sobbed I.
"Ah, not quite," answered Lady Judith. "There was more to come, little one."
"It seems so foolish," I said, wiping my eyes at last. "I do not exactly know why I was crying."
"Those tears are often bitter ones," said Lady Judith. "For sometimes it means that we dare not look and see why."
I thought that was rather my position. For indeed the bitter ingredient in my pain at that moment was one which I did not like to put into words, even to myself.