“What has been the matter with her?” he asked abruptly; but he turned his face away as he put the question. They were both standing by the railings, and now he crossed his arms upon them, leaning heavily against them, so that Bessie could not see his face. There was no one in sight, except the boys playing beneath them, and an old man hobbling on crutches. “What has been the matter with her?” he repeated, as Bessie hesitated.
“She caught cold, and could not shake it off, and so her mother got frightened about her, and brought her here. But it does not seem to do her much good. It is her spirits, I think, for she has lost all her fun, and she is not at all like the old Edna, and it grieves me to see her,” stammered Bessie, confused at having said so much, and yet not willing to be silent. “What can I say? What ought I to do for them both?” she thought, in much distress.
“There has never been anything wrong with her spirits before,” replied Mr. Sinclair, in rather an incredulous tone. But Bessie had caught sight of his face; it was quite pale now, and he was pulling his mustache nervously, and she was not a bit deceived by his voice. “Do you mean that she is not happy? I hope—that is—I trust nothing has occurred to trouble her.”
“Nothing fresh. Oh, Mr. Sinclair!” and here Bessie burst out, regardless of conventionality, of probable consequences, of everything but her honest heart. “Why do you not understand what it is that ails Edna? If you do not know, no one can—no one—no one;” and then, frightened at her own audacity, Bessie colored up to her forehead and walked on; but Mr. Sinclair was by her side the next moment.
“Don’t go, Miss Lambert. Please do not leave me yet. Tell me plainly what it is you mean. You are Edna’s friend, and I know you will be true to her. You have a good heart. I see in your eyes that you are sorry for me; do not be afraid to speak out. Why am I to know what is the matter with Edna?”
“That is a strange question for you to ask; surely you know Edna well enough to be aware how deeply she can repent of her faults!”
“Do you mean—speak plainly, I beseech you; do you—can you mean that Edna repents of her cruel treatment of me?”
“Repents! Of course she has repented. Mr. Sinclair, you were very wrong to leave her. Why did you take her at her word? It was all temper; her pride was piqued because she believed herself distrusted. I know Edna so well; in spite of her faults, she is true and generous. When she loves, she loves once and forever; if she sent you away, she has been sorry for it ever since. What must you think of me for telling you this? I am so ignorant of the world, most likely I have acted foolishly, but it seems to me that truth is everything.”
“I think that you have acted nobly, Miss Lambert; you have made me your debtor for life, if this be true;” and then he stopped and passed his hand across his forehead, as though the sudden relief had bewildered him. “Oh, thank God!” she heard him say, as though to himself.
“It is true.”