"Take courage, my child," Bloodson said softening his rough voice, "I am your friend."
"You my friend!" she exclaimed, "what means that word on your lips?"
"Oh, pardon me, I was mad, I knew not what I did."
"Pardon you, why? Am I not born to sorrow?"
"What must she have endured?" Bloodson muttered.
"Oh, yes," she continued, speaking as in a dream. "I have suffered greatly. My life, though I am still very young, has, up to the present, been one long suffering; still, I can remember having been happy once—long, long ago. But the worst pain in this world is the remembrance of happiness in misfortune."
A sigh escaped from her overladen chest, she let her head fall in her hands, and wept. Bloodson listened to and gazed on her; this voice, these features, all he saw and heard augmented the suspicions in his heart, and gradually converted them into certainty.
"Oh, speak—speak again!" he continued, tenderly; "What do you remember of your youthful years?"
The girl looked at him, and a bitter smile curled her lips.
"Why, in misery, think of past joys?" she said, shaking her head mournfully; "Why should I tell you of these things—you, above all, who are my direst enemy? Do you wish to inflict fresh tortures on me?"