“Oh, no, no! I could not tell either of them. They were kind; but—oh, so hard!”
“Now, dear, then, look in my face, look well, and tell me whether you can confide in me,” said Sybil, gently.
“If I had never seen your heavenly countenance—if I had only heard your heavenly voice, I could confide in you, as in the holy mother of Christ,” said the stranger fervently.
“Tell me then, dear; tell me all you wish to tell; relieve your heart; lay all your burdens on my bosom; and then you shall feel how well I can comfort and help you,” said Sybil, putting her hand around the fair neck and drawing the little golden-haired head upon her breast.
Then and there the friendless young stranger—friendless now, no more—told her piteous story.
CHAPTER VI.
ROSA BLONDELLE.
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Her form had all the softness of her sex, Her face had all the sweetness of the devil When he put on the cherub to perplex Eve, and to pave, Heaven knows how, the road to evil.—Byron. |