For a moment, she gazed
after the white bits drifting away from her; then, biting her lip
to steady it and struggling to keep back the tears, she turned on
her heel, without a word, and walked away towards home, leaving
Molly to follow or not, as she chose.
The tears came fast now, as she hurried on, avoiding the main
streets as best she could. No one was in sight when she reached
the house, so she could run up the stairs unnoticed, and throw
herself down across the foot of the bed for a long, hearty cry.
She had hoped so much from Molly's sympathy! But, after all, now
the opportunity had come, the tears were not so ready as they had
been, and she did not feel quite so much as if the world had
abused her, as she did when she was standing on the bridge,
watching the white dots on the river below. At least, no great
harm was done, for she remembered the whole poem and could easily
write it out again. As this thought came to her, she sprang up
once more, seized a pencil and a bit of paper and rewrote the
words which had caused her so much joy and so much pain. She was
still sitting with her forehead resting on her clasped hands,
reading the verses over and over and dreaming of the future day
when fame should come to her, when she heard her mother's voice
outside.
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