“You will send me away, of course,” said Priscilla; “I know that. I know, too, that you will counsel me to do the only right thing left, and that is to make a clean breast of everything to Mrs Lyttelton.”
“She is your schoolmistress?”
“Yes.”
“Then it is something you have done at school?”
“That is it.”
“Oh, a schoolgirl offence—a scrape of that sort! My dear young lady, my dear Priscilla, when you come to my age you won’t think much of things of that sort.”
“I hope I shall never think lightly of them,” said Priscilla; “that would be quite the worst of all.”
“Well, out with it now. I am ready to listen.”
“I want you to do more than listen,” said Priscilla. She took one of his hands and held it in both of hers. “I want you to be Esther for the time being. I want you to judge me as Esther would judge me if she were here.”
“My God!” said the old man. “I cannot do that. I cannot look at you with her eyes.”