She
was like a recurrence--like some one who had played her part before--or
were the scene and Nella-Rose but the materialization of something Lynda
had always expected, always dreaded, but which she had always known must
come some day? She was prepared now--terribly prepared! Everything
depended upon her management of the crucial moments. Her kindness did
not desert her, nor her merciful justice, but she meant to shield
Truedale with her life--hers and Nella-Rose's, if necessary. "Why--have
you--come?" she asked again, and Nella-Rose, taking for granted that
this pale, strange woman did know all about her--knew everything and
every one pertaining to her--fixed her sweet eyes, tear-filled but not
overflowing, upon her face.
"I want--to tell him that I'm right sorry I hated him. I--I didn't know
until Bill Trim died. I want to ask him to--to forgive me, and--then I
can go back."
"What--did--Bill Trim tell you?" Lynda tried with all her strength to
keep her mind cool, her thoughts steady. She wanted to lead Nella-Rose
on and on, without losing the way herself.
"That he burned--he didn't mean to--he burned the letter I
sent--asking--"
"I see! You wrote--a letter, then?"
"Yes. He told me, if I wanted him--and I did--Godda'mighty! how I wanted
him then!" Nella-Rose clasped her poor little work-hardened hands close,
and her small white teeth showed through the parted lips while she
struggled to regain her calm.
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