This Sophie whispered into Bethsaba's ear, then ran away.
Zeneida saw the rosy glow suffusing the cheeks of the departing girl and the deathly pallor overspreading those of her who remained, as though the one had stolen the life-glow from the other. Bethsaba stood where she had left her, white, motionless, with sunken head, and arms hanging lifeless at her side.
Zeneida at once divined the secret. She went up to her, but hardly had she taken the girl's hands in hers when, falling before her, bitterly weeping, the poor child hid her face in Zeneida's dress.
"Oh, why did you bring me here?"
Zeneida raised her.
"Stand up. Do not cry. He will be yours."
"What! I take him from her?"
"Humph! Were it only 'her' you had to take him from— But do not be troubled. Love him; you alone deserve his love."
The poor child shook her head sorrowfully. Now she understood the meaning of "love," and with it what "jealousy" and "resignation" meant.