“Yes, yes—what makes you trouble me by questions? You ought to know what is proper to be done.”
“An’ so I allus does know, honey—ony when I does my mos’ properess’, you doesn’n alluz’ see it into dat light an you fines fau’rt long o’ me,” said the old body, as she left the room.
When Miss Clifton had left her warm bath, and had partaken of the rich strong coffee—strong as the essence of coffee, and made rich and thick by being half cream and sugar, and brought to her in a tiny porcelain cup, she felt sufficiently refreshed to be able, with the assistance of her woman, to make her morning toilet.
When she had finished dressing it was still very early, and two hours remained before breakfast—but she left her room, and met her father, who was an early riser, in the upper hall.
He came forward and kissed her. Then held both her hands, and looked in her face, exclaiming—“What! pale, my child? Oh, tut! tut! tut! tut! tut! That’s all wrong! All wrong!”
“Father! has he come yet?”
“No, no—it’s quite early yet! He’ll be here anon! You should not have risen these two hours!”
“Father, I could not sleep! I could not even lie in bed!”
“Oh, pooh! pooh! pooh! All folly! All nonsense! Go back and rest.”
“Father, I cannot! My words to him were so wrong! so bitter! so insulting! I feel them to have been such, and I can never rest until I have told him so!” said Carolyn, dropping her head upon the only bosom to which her haughty heart could bear to confide its sorrow and its repentance.