“Yes,” said Isabel faintly. “How did you know?”
Elisia smiled.
“Because I am a woman who has seen much of the world, though I am not so very much older than you. Isabel dear,” she whispered, as she held the girl’s cheek close to her own, which now burned, “I want you to trust me. I want you to believe me when I tell you that it is not true.”
“I do believe you,” cried Isabel ingenuously, as she turned and kissed her. “Indeed—indeed I do.”
“I know it, and I feel as if you would always have liked me, only there has been this baseless misunderstanding. Now that is all past, dear, and you are going to trust me. Tell me what is the trouble.” Isabel shook her head.
“There is no need. Forgive me if I trespass on delicate ground, dear, and say that it is because this little heart is very sore.”
Isabel tried to escape, but very feebly, and the sore little heart began to throb as she was held firmly to another which beat more rapidly than was its wont.
“I cannot help understanding a good deal,” was whispered to her gently. “I have not sought to know, but it has come to me. Come, dear, be frank, and let me help you as one who loves you. Yes,” she continued, as she saw the wondering look directed at her; “the little heart is sore because of tender little passages with one who is now crossing the seas.”
“Oh!” sighed Isabel, who fluttered a little as if to escape.
“Yes; that is so,” whispered the nurse; “and now, with poor papa’s wishes to back it up, there has come temptation in the way.”