“Aunt Sophy! What do you mean?”
Verena’s eyes were wide open, and a sort of terror filled them.
“Don’t start, dear. That person is your sister Pauline.”
“Oh! Pauline! Impossible! Impossible!” cried Verena.
“It is true, nevertheless. Do you remember that day when she was nearly drowned?”
“Can I forget it?”
“The next morning I was in her room, and the servant brought in the dark-blue serge dress she wore, which had been submerged so long in the salt water. It had been dried, and she was bringing it back. The girl held in her hand the thimble—the thimble of gold and sapphire and turquoise. She held the thimble in the palm of her hand, and said, ‘I found it in the pocket of the young lady’s dress. It is injured, but the jeweller can put it right again.’ You can imagine my feelings. For a time I was motionless, holding the thimble in my hand. Then I resolved to put it back where it had been found. I have heard nothing of it since from any one. I don’t suppose Pauline has worn that skirt again; the thimble is doubtless there.”
“Oh, may I run and look? May I?”
“No, no; leave it in its hiding-place. Do you think the thimble matters to me? What does matter is this—that Pauline should come and tell me, simply and quietly, the truth.”
“She will. She must. I feel as if I were in a dream. I can scarcely believe this can be true.”