"Why, what possesses you to-day, Miss Miriam?"
"I shall answer no questions, Mrs. Clayton--this right, at least, I
reserve--but, the fact is, I doubt every thing lately, except this
child and God. I do not believe my Creator will forsake me utterly--I
shall not, till the end." And tears rolled down my face, the first I had
shed for days. I had been petrified, of late, by the resolution I was
making, and the effort of mind it had cost me. I had felt, until now,
that I was hardening into stone.
"You desire to see Mr. Bainrothe, I suppose," she remarked, after a long
silence, during which she had again betaken herself to her occupation,
without lifting her eyes as she asked the question.
"I desire to look my fate in the face at once, and understand his
conditions," I replied, sullenly.
"But what if he is not here--what if Dr. Englehart--" lifting her eyes
to mine.
"I cannot be mistaken," I interrupted, with impetuosity. "I have heard
his step; he eats in the room below; I am convinced, for I know of old
that bronchial cough of his--the effect of gormandism--"
Then suddenly, Ernie, looking up, made a revelation, irrelevant, yet to
my ear terrible and astounding, but fortunately incomprehensible to my
companion. What did that little vigilant creature ever fail to remark?
"Mirry make tea," he said, or seemed to say, and my face paled and
flushed alternately, until my brain swam.
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