In vain did Nancy try to explain the situation, defending Lady Betty’s purpose in keeping no one but servants on Fernlode, but Orilla would not be convinced of its justice. Suddenly she threw herself upon the bed with such secret enjoyment, that Nancy knew the girl’s mind had become morbid on the subject of ownership.
As so often happens with those who are physically delicate, her reasoning also was at fault. She imagined she had been unjustly treated, whereas nothing of the sort had happened. Mr. Fernell had been generous to the point of bounty in educating Orilla and in giving a sum of money to the mother. This had all been done because of Mrs. Rigney’s devotion to Nancy’s Aunt Katherine, the first Mrs. Fernell, and Nancy knew the story well.
“Yes,” Orilla began again, “it was not mother’s fault. And she has tried to make me see things her way; but I can’t. I’ve always been a wild mountain girl and all that I’ve loved has been here. You don’t think I did wrong to come back here once in a while, do you?” she asked plaintively.
Nancy gazed silently at the girl upon the bed. Her hair, always so fiery red, did not look quite so peculiar on that pillow—Orilla’s own pillow, that she had so long loved. The room was musty and needed a thorough airing, but Nancy noticed a small casement window opened slightly—this was, she reasoned, Orilla’s way of secretly ventilating the room.
“I don’t see what could be very wrong about your coming here,” Nancy finally answered Orilla’s question. “But why didn’t you ask?”
“Ask? After being turned away?”
“You were not turned away, Orilla, and that’s a foolish thing to say. Uncle Frederic simply changed his plans and there was no need of a nurse here,” stoutly and emphatically proclaimed Nancy.
“And they didn’t like me to be with Rosa—”
“Now, Orilla, you can’t deny you were not a suitable companion for Rosa, because you could make her do anything. You are older, and you worked on her sympathies,” Nancy felt obliged to point out.
“I’ll admit that now, Nancy, to you, but it didn’t seem that way before. I never told anyone, not even mother, how I felt, and it just all piled up inside of me until I imagined myself like a volcano, always ready to—erupt.”