“A thousand thanks. But how did you manage to—?”
Here I stopped, not knowing how to finish the question.
“You are surprised that I came, notwithstanding mamma’s objection to my going?”
“I confess I am. I should not have been surprised at Judy’s doing so, now.”
She was silent for a moment.
“Do you think obedience to parents is to last for ever? The honour is, of course. But I am surely old enough to be right in following my conscience at least.”
“You mistake me. That is not the difficulty at all. Of course you ought to do what is right against the highest authority on earth, which I take to be just the parental. What I am surprised at is your courage.”
“Not because of its degree, only that it is mine!”
And she sighed.—She was quite right, and I did not know what to answer. But she resumed.
“I know I am cowardly. But if I cannot dare, I can bear. Is it not strange?—With my mother looking at me, I dare not say a word, dare hardly move against her will. And it is not always a good will. I cannot honour my mother as I would. But the moment her eyes are off me, I can do anything, knowing the consequences perfectly, and just as regardless of them; for, as I tell you, Mr Walton, I can endure; and you do not know what that might COME to mean with my mother. Once she kept me shut up in my room, and sent me only bread and water, for a whole week to the very hour. Not that I minded that much, but it will let you know a little of my position in my own home. That is why I walked away before her. I saw what was coming.”