Frances watched his exit with a triumphant look; had she given him a bad opinion of Amy Neville? and had he believed her?
She remained where she was, still and silent, until the door opened and Amy came in, her face lighted up with smiles, and her cheeks glowing with a faint tinge of colour from her walk. Frances' face flushed hotly as she thought how beautiful she was; and passing by her with a scornful bend of the head in acknowledgment of the governess's greeting, she gained her own room, and bolted the door.
There throwing herself on her knees, she clasped her hands over her face as she murmured passionately, "I hate her! But he shall not love her! He shall not love her!"
CHAPTER XII.
THE ACCIDENT.
"All shod with steel,
We hissed along the polished ice, in games
Confederate, imitative of the chace
And woodland pleasures."
Wordsworth.
"I will forget her! All dear recollections
Pressed in my heart, like flowers within a book,
Shall be torn out, and scattered to the winds!
I will forget her!"