"How can I breathe it if I don't know what it is?"
"You do know—you know what I mean." Then after an instant's pause she added: "What I did in the garden."
"What did you do in the garden?"
"I threw myself on your neck and I sobbed—I behaved like a maniac."
"Is that all you mean?"
"It's what I don't want mamma to know—it's what I beseech you to keep silent about. If you don't I'll never, never go home. Have mercy on me!" the poor child quavered.
"Dear girl, I only want to be tender to you—to be perfect. But tell me first: has anyone acted wrongly to you?"
"No one—no one. I speak the truth."
She looked into my eyes, and I looked far into hers. They were wild with pain and yet they were so pure that they made me confusedly believe her. I hesitated a moment; then I risked the question: "Isn't Mr. Brandon responsible for anything?"
"For nothing—for nothing! Don't blame him!" the girl passionately cried.