And sitting thus alone with her sorrow, she felt a hand on hers and an arm slip around her neck.
“Joscelyn, I could not stay away any longer,” whispered Betty’s voice in the dark. “I had both of your notes; I know you are sorry, and I miss you so much!”
“Dear Betty, dear Betty, how glad I am you are come! I cannot tell you how lonely and wretched my life is, and now my—my true friend is gone!” and with her head on the girl’s bosom, she gave way to a nervous sobbing.
“Did you love him?” Betty asked, when at last she understood.
“I—I do not know; but I have so few friends, and he loved me and trusted me, and I shall miss him.”
“Did you wish to marry him?”
“I cannot say. Sometimes when I have been very lonely, and you all turned from me, I have thought I did. To marry him and go away to a new place and new friends seemed best. He was strong and brave, but he was gentle and considerate, and he never hectored me—a girl likes not to be hectored and quarrelled with in her courting.”
“No,” answered Betty, sadly, understanding she had Richard in mind. Often, with a woman’s instinct, she had pleaded with her brother to humour Joscelyn more in her way of looking at things; but he had chosen to attempt to set her right, or, at least, right as he saw it.
“I must be going; mother is at Mistress Strudwick’s and will be angry if she knows I came here,” Betty said at last, rising with a sigh. But Joscelyn held her back with both hands.
“Not yet, Betty, not yet; we can see her far down the street by the lights from the windows. Stay a little longer; it is such a comfort to have you.”