And Gwendoline?
She sat on a chair by her bed, her head laid on the pillow, hot tears chasing one another down her cheeks.
“Oh, Linnæa, Linnæa,” she moaned, “if you only knew how I love you; but you will never know now, you would never believe me, and I don’t deserve you should! Would she believe if someone were to tell her? No—why should she? She would think it some trumped-up story told to keep her quiet.”
She could see no way to undo the evil she had wrought. Linnæa could never trust her now, would have no more to do with her.
The facts of the case were these. Gwendoline had tried to attract Linnæa, as we all know, at first to fulfil her vow. From the second day she had felt drawn to her for her own sake. Linnæa was totally different with Gwendoline from what she was with anyone else. She seemed to get out of herself, and to forget the reserve and awkwardness which characterised her when with others. The girls did not even see this, for the presence of a third person was enough to stifle any show of demonstrativeness on the part of Linnæa. If they had seen it they would not have wondered so much, for Linnæa with Gwendoline was attractive and lovable.
Thus insensibly Gwendoline had come to love Linnæa with as great ardour as she was loved in return. We need not then be astonished at her feelings now. Gwendoline’s character was a strong one, but—surrounded by luxury all her life, with scarcely a wish ungratified—there had been little as yet to develop it. She had never cared very greatly for any of her companions; a great many had taken a violent fancy to her, and she had come to regard it as a matter of course that she should be courted and made much of. Her love for Linnæa was the first which had touched her heart, and it was none the less strong on that account. She had tried to forget the way in which the friendship had been begun and many a time had she hoped that Linnæa would not hear of it. Surely the girls must see, she thought, that it was genuine now; and yet, she could not forget having called upon them all to witness the conquest she was about to make, and the remembrance brought a flush of shame to her face.
Now, what she had dreaded had taken place, and in the most untoward way—in such a way that it was almost impossible for Linnæa now to learn the truth.
(To be concluded. )