‘No,’ she said, resolutely, ‘I must stay here. He will come and fetch me.’
‘But you speak sometimes as if you knew him to be dead. Is it not foolish, vain, to hope for that which cannot happen?’
‘He is not dead. People have told me so on purpose to break my heart, I think. Haven’t I told you that I see him very often?’
‘Then why are you so unhappy?’
‘Because he will not stay with me—because he does not come to fetch me away, as he promised, in a little more than a year—because he comes and goes like a spirit. Perhaps they are right, and he is really dead.’
‘Would it not be better to make up your mind to that, and to leave off watching for him, and roaming about the house at night?’
‘Who told you that?’ she asked, quickly.
‘Never mind who told me. You see I know how foolish you are. Wouldn’t it be wiser to try and go back to the common business of life, to bind up all that loose hair neatly, like a lady, and to try to be a comfort to your father and mother.’
At that last word an angry cry broke from the pale lips.
‘Mother!’ echoed Muriel, ‘I have no mother. That woman yonder,’ pointing towards the house, ‘is my worst enemy. Mother! My mother!’ with a bitter laugh. ‘Ask her what she has done with my child?’