"Your father once told me a story," said the stern old lady, "and I never forgave him till he had made a clean breast of it, and neither shall I forgive you."
These words had entered like iron into Ella's soul, and she grieved over them night and day.
It was plain to see the child's health was suffering under her unjust accusation, and Mrs. Snowden, to counteract the ill-effects, did her best to lighten the load which was pressing so hardly on the young shoulders.
"You must keep up heart and hope, Ella, my child," said she. "God, who sees the wrong, will one day set it right—be sure of that."
"Gertie, how white you look! What's the matter?"
So said Rupert, suddenly catching sight of his sister's face, which had grown very pale.
"There's nothing the matter!" replied Gertie irritably. "How silly you are, Rupert!"
"Gertie is, like the rest of us," gently interposed Mrs. Snowden, "troubled about Ella. However,—" this with a look of kindly sympathy into her little visitor's face—"don't worry more than you can help, childie; the clouds will all roll by one day, you know."
"Yes," said Ella, brightening up; "everything will be right when father comes home. He won't think I'm a story-teller, I know."
"Of course he won't," was Kenneth's reply; "neither would any one else with a grain of sense in his head."