[CHAPTER XII.]
The time came when poor, unhappy Flower felt that she could hide her condition no longer—not even from the absorbed woman who took so little pride in her beautiful daughters now.
For months she had been going about with a heavy shawl wrapped about her; but the pretense of chilliness could no longer avail her, for spring was in its second month now and early flowers were in bloom.
She laid her plans tearfully to flee from home and leave some of her things on the sea-shore, that her mother might think she had drowned herself for love. Better that than the bitter truth.
She had a little money—the savings of the little pin-money allowed her monthly by her mother. She put this in a little purse in her bosom, wrapped herself in a plain dark cloak and thick veil, and started out, one dark twilight hour, with a small hand-satchel on her arm, feeling quite sure of escaping unmolested, as her mother was in her own room, and Jewel had gone to the town close by to do a little shopping, as she said.
Alas! Jewel was coming up the front steps, and a low, malicious cry came from her lips as she sprung forward and caught Flower rudely by the arm.
"Where are you going?" she demanded, sharply.
"To—to—walk," Flower faltered, trying to draw herself away; but Jewel held her fast.
"It is a falsehood—you are running away!" she exclaimed, harshly.