"Oh, no, no, no!" cried Christie, with involuntary vehemence. "Oh, I never wish to go back again!"
"Does thee not?" said her host, fixing his strong gray eyes on her face in grave surprise. "Thee has good reasons for that, doubtless?"
"Oh, I have, I have! Some day I will tell you all, but not now. I have no one to accuse or to blame; and the only friends I have, have ceased to think of me as living before this. If I returned to them, there are many who would be rendered miserable for life; and as they all think me dead, I intend to be so to them."
All her courage gave way here, and bowing her face in her hands, she gave way to one of her wild, passionate bursts of tears.
The man's face expressed deep sympathy and compassion; he did not speak nor interrupt her till the violence of her sudden grief was abated, and then he inquired, in his customary, quiet tone:
"And what does thee intend to do, my daughter?"
"I do not know yet," said Christie, raising her head. "I will go away somewhere and work for my living, where I will never be heard of again."
"Poor little one, what can thee do for a living?" said the man, compassionately. "Thee is too small and delicate to work, and never was made to buffet the storms of this rough world."
"I will not have to wait long. I will die!" said Christie, sadly.
"That thee will, if thee takes thy place among the workers in the outer circle of life. So thee is fully determined never to go back to thy friends?"