"Very!" replied Delia compelling herself to attend, as Emily seemed to wait for an answer. "Mrs. Pomeroy is always kind. I only wish I had made her a better return for all her goodness."
"But I am sure you have been very good lately," said Emily. "Mrs. Pomeroy said herself that she had never seen any one improve more. She said she only wished she could see you in better spirits, and that she must talk with you, and find out what the matter was. Oh, Delia, if you would only tell her the whole story!"
"I do wish with all my heart I had done so at the time you were taken sick," said Delia. "I came very near it, and if there had been no one but myself to suffer, I believe I should have ventured it. But I thought he would lose his place and be left without resources. Let me give you one piece of advice, Emily, perhaps it is the last, I may over give you, and I should like to think I had done one good thing for you. When you see your duty, go straight-forward and do it, without stopping to calculate the consequences, and don't tell a lie, to save yourself from any danger or trouble. Straight-forward, is the only right way."
There was something in Delia's manner which startled Emily very much, and she was just about asking a question, when two or three of the girls came in with their hands full of early wild flowers, all eager to give Emily an account of the "splendid ramble" Mr. Fletcher had given them, and Delia slipped out without giving an opportunity for any more conversation. But the words and the tone in which they were uttered recurred to Emily's mind many times during the day.
She could not help feeling that matters were drawing towards some great catastrophe, and she resolved to make at least one more effort to induce Delia at least to try to escape from the toils in which she seemed to think herself so hopelessly involved.
Emily was now so much better that it was not thought necessary for any one to sleep in the room with her, and as she was rather nervous and easily disturbed, she preferred to be alone at night. This particular night she felt wakeful and thoughtful. The wind blew, and the rain dashed against the windows, bringing vividly back to her mind the night of the thunder storm—the last evening but one that she had been in the school-room. How long ago it seemed!
Since then she had been near to death's door, and God had mercifully spared her—spared her she hoped, to repentance and reformation. She had fully made up her mind, to make a full confession of her own fault, whatever might be the consequences, and she had only delayed, hoping to persuade Delia to join her. She felt more than ever the truth of the remark she had made to Delia, before her illness, namely, that she had never possessed any religious principles. Feelings she had had in abundance, but no settled rules of action.
She prayed earnestly for guidance—for forgiveness for the past and strength for the future—above all for poor Delia, whom she loved more tenderly than ever.
It was growing late, and the storm seemed subsiding, when she thought she heard some one moving about the house. She raised herself upon her elbow and listened. Some one was already walking very gently through the long hall. Probably Mrs. Pomeroy had come out to see that all the windows were closed before retiring herself. She sank down upon her pillow again, and prepared to compose herself to rest, when the door opened, and some one entered the room, closing it after her with great care, as though she feared to be overheard.
It was Delia! She was deadly pale, except a little spot of red in each cheek. She wore her travelling dress and bonnet and a thick veil, and carried a satchel on her arm. She came to the bed-side and kissed Emily, who was at first too much paralyzed with wonder and fear to speak. But as Delia turned to depart, she found words, and catching her dress to detain her, she gasped rather than spoke: