“Must I explain to you, Evelyn, what this means?”
“You can say anything you like.”
“These scraps of paper prove beyond doubt that you, for some extraordinary reason, were the person who tore the book. Why you did it is beyond my conception, is beyond Miss Thompson’s conception, is beyond the conception of my sister Lucy; but that you did do it we none of us for a moment doubt.”
“Oh, you are wicked! How dare you think such things of me?”
“Tell me, Evelyn—tell me why you did it. Come here and tell me. I will not be unkind to you, my poor little girl. I am sorry for one so ignorant, so wanting in all conceptions of right or wrong. Tell me, dear, and as there is a God in heaven, Evelyn, I will forgive you.”
“I will not tell you what I did not do,” said the angry child.
“You are vexed now and do not know what you are saying. I will go away, and come back again at the end of half an hour; perhaps you will tell me then.”
Evelyn stood silent. Miss Henderson, taking the History with her, left the room. She turned the key in the lock. Evelyn rushed to the window. Could she get out by it? She rushed to the door and tried to open it. Window and door defied her efforts. She was locked in. She was like a wild creature in a trap. To scream would do no good. Never before had the spoilt child found herself in such a position. A wild agony seized her; even now she did not repent.
If only mothery were alive! If only she were back on the ranch! If only Jasper were by her side!
“Oh mothery! oh Jasper!” she cried; and then a sob rose to her throat, tears burst from her eyes. The tension for the time was relieved; she huddled up in a chair, and sobbed as if her heart would break.