“And how do you know that I do not love you now?”
“Ah, that’s all changed, my dear. You are no longer a little girl.”
“But I do love you now.”
“No, no, my dear; not as you used to.”
“And keep still to the simple old form of prayer I was taught as a child, with a word for the poor, stricken old friend who was always so tender and loving to me.”
“No,” said the woman sadly.
“Sarah!”
“Yes, yes, yes; you do, my own darling,” she cried, as she sank upon her knees and pressed Claude’s hand to her cheek. “You do, you must, and you have shown it to me by what you have done. I’m a wicked, ungrateful wretch.”
“No, no, no; be calm, be calm,” whispered Claude soothingly.
“No, my dear, there is no more happiness and rest for me. You do not know—you do not know.”