'Oh! there's no—no way of helping me, dear. There's nothing for me to do but to die.' And now giving way utterly, the girl buried her face in her hands and sobbed until it seemed that she would choke in thick grief.
'Oh! May, May dear, you mustn't cry like that: if anyone were to come by, what would they think?'
'What does it matter? Everyone will know sooner or later—I wish I were dead—dead and out of sight for ever of this miserable world.'
'No, May,' said Alice, thinking instinctively of the child, 'you mustn't die. Your trial is a terrible one, but people before now have got over worse. I am trying to think what can be done.'
Then May raised her weeping face, and there was a light of hope in her eyes. She clasped Alice's hand. Neither spoke. The little brown bird pursued his way up and down the branches of the beech; beyond it lay the sky, and the girls, tense with little sufferings, yearned into this vision of beautiful peace.
At last Alice said: 'Did you tell Mr. Scully of the trouble? Does he know—'
'He was away, and I didn't like to write it to him; his departure for
Australia took me quite by surprise.'
'Have you told your mother?'
'Oh no, I'd rather die than tell her; I couldn't tell her. You know what she is.'
'I think she ought to be told; she would take you abroad.'