“And your stepmother is unkind to you,” said I, jumping to a conclusion.
“Who said so?” asked she, with a shade of indignation in her tone. “She is a right good woman, and makes my father a good wife.”
“Then why are you here living so far from home?”
Now the look came back to her face which I had seen upon it during the night hours when I had watched her by stealth; a dimming of the grave frankness of her eyes, a light quiver at the corners of her mouth. But all she said was, “It was better.”
Somehow, I persisted with the wilfulness of an invalid. I am half ashamed of it now.
“But why better, Thekla? Was there——” How should I put it? I stopped a little, and then rushed blindfold at my object: “Has not that letter which you read so often something to do with your being here?”
She fixe
