"Oh, take it away!" cried Millie, twisting her fingers. "I don't want any supper—I'm going crazy, I think! Oh, what a hard, flinty, unfeeling heart you must have, you wicked young woman!"
Sarah looked at her compassionately.
"It is hard, I know. But why didn't you do as master wished you, and get away?"
"Marry him! How dare you? I wish I could poison him! I'd do that with the greatest pleasure."
"Then you must stay here, miss, for weeks and weeks, months and months, and every day be like this. Your friends will never find you—never!"
"Sarah, look here! I shall be dead in a week, and I'll haunt you—I vow I will! I'll haunt you until I make your life a misery to you!"
Sarah smiled quietly.
"I am not afraid, miss. You're a great deal too young and too healthy to die; and you won't kill yourself, for life is too sweet, even in prison. The best thing you can do is to marry master, and be restored to your friends."
"Sarah Grant—if that be your name," said Mollie, with awful calmness—"go away! if you only come here to insult me like that, don't come here at all."
Sarah courtesied respectfully, and immediately left. But her words had made their mark. In spite of Mollie's appealing dignity, any avenue of escape—even that—was beginning to took inviting.