“Never mind it, Miss Cameron. We cannot help being angry sometimes. And you had great provocation under the mistake you made. I was only sorry because I knew it would trouble you afterwards. Please don’t think of it again.”
“You are very kind, Margaret.”
“I regretted my father’s death, for the first time, after reading your letter, for I knew he could have helped you. But it was very foolish of me, for God is not dead.”
Margaret smiled as she said this, looking full in Euphra’s eyes. It was a smile of meaning unfathomable, and it quite overcame Euphra. She had never liked Margaret before; for, from not very obscure psychological causes, she had never felt comfortable in her presence, especially after she had encountered the nun in the Ghost’s Walk, though she had had no suspicion that the nun was Margaret. A great many of our dislikes, both to persons and things, arise from a feeling of discomfort associated with them, perhaps only accidentally present in our minds the first time we met them. But this vanished entirely now.
“Do you, then, know God too, Margaret?”
“Yes,” answered Margaret, simply and solemnly.
“Will you tell me about him?”
“I can at least tell you about my father, and what he taught me.”
“Oh! thank you, thank you! Do tell me about him—now.”
“Not now, dear Miss Cameron. It is late, and you are too unwell to stay up longer. Let me help you to bed to-night. I will be your maid.”