But now, seated on the edge of the bed, she looked upon the sleeping face with pity and something like tenderness.
Why had she in the bitterness of her sorrow and resentment consented to be a party to this vile plot against an innocent girl?
What was done could not be undone! But could it?
She shuddered as she thought of Thomas Alvin.
He was an outcast, a pariah. He had been like Jonah, thrown overboard because of the ill fortune that dogged his steps. Nothing he touched ever prospered.
Possibly the idea gained in childhood that he was born unlucky had helped to make him what he was. His hand was against everyone and everyone’s hand was against him. He had led her, Andrée Le Breton, into crime.
She wept as she thought of the little shack where she had laboriously mended shoes. She wished herself back there, if only she could wipe the stain from her soul!
Eweretta moved, and presently opened her eyes.
It was not a hard face she saw now.
“I have been very cruel to you, Eweretta,” Mrs. Le Breton whispered. “I am going to be kind now. Forgive me!”