“Then, pray, what do those letters mean?”
“I do not know,” said Hazel quietly; and she opened them one by one, saw their contents, read the notes that accompanied two, and then, letting her face go down upon her hands she uttered a loud sob.
“Now, that is being foolish, Hazel,” cried her mother. “Children, leave the table! Or, no, it will be better that your sister and I should retire. No; take your breakfasts into the other room, children, and I will talk to your sister here.”
“Don’t cry, Hazy,” whispered Cissy, clinging to her sister affectionately.
“Don’t speak cross to Hazel, please ma,” whispered Mab.
“Silence, disobedient children!” cried the poor woman in tragic tones. “Leave the room, I desire.”
Hazel felt cut to the heart with sorrow, misery, and despair. The increasing mental weakness of her mother, and her growing lack of moral appreciation of right and wrong, were agonising to her; and at that moment she felt as if this new trouble about the letters was a judgment upon her for opening those addressed to her mother, though it was done to save her from pain. To some people the airs and assumptions of Mrs Thorne would have been food for mirth; but to Hazel the mental pain was intense. Knowing what the poor woman had been previous to her troubles, this childishness was another pang; and often and often, when ready to utter words of reproach, she changed them to those of tenderness and consideration.
“Now, Hazel,” said Mrs Thorne with dignity, “I am waiting for an explanation.”
“An explanation, dear?” said Hazel, leaving her seat to place her arm affectionately round her mother’s neck.
“Not yet, Hazel,” said the poor woman, shrinking away. “I cannot accept your caresses till I have had a proper explanation about those letters.”