"Yes, that is it. Perhaps if I were a genius it would be different, but I have only a poor little talent, after all. And I see how I was most to blame. I was hateful and proud—and now there is no help for it. I don't know why I should tell it, except that you are so kind, for it cannot be undone, and I must learn to bear it."
"It is so much better for you to speak of it, dear. And do you know what I am thinking? That it is not easy to destroy the bridge between two hearts that really love; isn't that it? All you can do is to wait and be patient, going on with your work and making yourself worthy of the best that can happen to you."
"But when one makes a mistake one has to bear the consequences," said Lillian, sadly.
"The pain and self-accusation—yes, but how often we are given the opportunity of undoing our mistakes. It is a hard, hard lesson you have to learn, but isn't there a star of hope somewhere that you can fix your eyes upon. Forgive me for pressing your own moral upon you, but it has helped me and I want you to take comfort."
As Mrs. Morrison went slowly down stairs again, she said to herself, "Poor little girl! I wish I could help her; but if her lover is what he ought to be, he will come back, I am sure."
CHAPTER SIXTEENTH.
HARD TIMES.
Bad weather was predicted by the almanac for the first week in February, and bad weather prevailed both indoors and out.
Frances had an attack of grip which came near being pneumonia, and caused her mother some anxious days. Miss Sherwin, going in one evening to ask Zenobia about the patient, found Mrs. Morrison herself in the kitchen, crying as if her heart would break, her face buried in one of her little daughter's white aprons that lay on the ironing-board.