"Three months! Then for three months you have knelt every Sunday in prayer in this room, for twelve Sundays you sat by me learning to read, and you never said a word?"
A certain harshness in Mrs. Barfield's voice awakened a rebellious spirit in Esther, and a lowering expression gathered above her eyes. She said—
"Had I told you, you would have sent me away then and there. I had only a quarter's wages, and should have starved or gone and drowned myself."
"I'm sorry to hear you speak like that, Esther."
"It is trouble that makes me, ma'am, and I have had a great deal."
"Why did you not confide in me? I have not shown myself cruel to you, have
I?"
"No, indeed, ma'am. You are the best mistress a servant ever had, but—"
"But what?"
"Why, ma'am, it is this way…. I hated being deceitful—indeed I did. But
I can no longer think of myself. There is another to think for now."
There was in Mrs. Barfield's look something akin to admiration, and she felt she had not been wholly wrong in her estimate of the girl's character; she said, and in a different intonation—