She could not
realize that the little movements she heard on the other side of the door
were any other than those of her mistress, her friend, her mother; for
all these names Mary lavished upon her in the fullness of her heart. The
blame that was being cast upon Lady Mary from all sides made this child
of her bounty but more deeply her partisan, more warm in her adoration.
She would not, for all the inheritances of the world, have acknowledged
even to herself that Lady Mary was in fault. Mary felt that she would
rather a thousand times be poor and have to gain her daily bread, than
that she who had nourished and cherished her should have been forced in
her cheerful old age to think, before she chose to do so, of parting and
farewell and the inevitable end.
She thought, like every young creature in strange and painful
circumstances, that she would be unable to sleep, and did indeed lie
awake and weep for an hour or more, thinking of all the changes that had
happened; but sleep overtook her before she knew, while her mind was
still full of these thoughts; and her dreams were endless, confused, full
of misery and longing. She dreamed a dozen times over that she heard
Lady Mary's soft call through the open door,--which was not open, but
shut closely and locked by the sisters who now inhabited the next room;
and once she dreamed that Lady Mary came to her bedside and stood there
looking at her earnestly, with the tears flowing from her eyes.
Pages:
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83