He was not prepared to see Golden start up from the chair with a white face, and wild, frightened, blue eyes.
She clutched his arms and leaned against him. He felt her frightened heart-beats plainly.
"Oh, grandpa, grandpa," she wailed, "what is the matter with everyone? What have I done that some wish me dead and others are sorry that ever I was born?"
She felt the tremulous lips of the old man pressed fondly on her drooping head, she heard a sorrowful murmur:
"Poor little Golden's daughter," then he said aloud:
"My darling, who has been saying such cruel things to you?"
"It is Clare and Elinor, and Uncle John," she sobbed. "They—the girls, I mean, now—said the worst thing I could have done was to be born; and that my mother was the first to disgrace the name of Glenalvan. And, grandpa, I heard what Uncle John said when he passed under the window. He said if I had died long ago it must have been better for all."
Old Hugh Glenalvan's kindly blue eyes were flashing fire. He held the quivering little form against his breast with loving arms, and his outraged old heart beat fast against the girl's.
But he could not answer her. Indignant pain and grief kept him dumb.
"Grandpa, tell me what I have done to be hated by my kind," she sobbed. "Am I deformed? Am I repulsive to look at?"