‘But the child!—you will not desert the child?’ exclaimed Quita, with something like maternal anxiety in her voice.
Liz shuddered.
‘It will be a double burthen to me now,’ she answered; ‘but I have already resolved to do as my father would have wished me, and I will not shirk my self-imposed duty. I will do my utmost for the child.’
‘Oh, Lizzie, you are very good! You make me feel so ashamed of myself,’ said Quita, attempting to kiss her adopted sister.
But Lizzie sprung aside from her.
‘Don’t touch me!’ she cried. ‘Don’t stay near me any longer, or I shall be unable to conceal the loathing I feel for your conduct! False lover—false mother—false friend! Oh, Maraquita, Maraquita! it would have been better if God had called you to Himself when you were as innocent as your unfortunate baby! You and he, between you, have destroyed all my faith in human nature.’
And Liz, throwing herself into a chair, and laying down her head upon the table, sobbed so bitterly and unrestrainedly, that Quita, terrified at the sound, which might attract spectators to spread abroad the news of her being in the bungalow, fled out into the darkness again, and made her way back to the White House.
