She did not answer any questions. She did not
thank us. I should almost have fancied that she had not perceived our
presence, had I not observed her dark, sunken eyes once or twice turned up
towards my face, with a dismal look of wonder and enquiry.
The girl was very ill, and we went every day to see her. Sometimes she
would answer our questions--sometimes not. Thoughtful, observant, surly,
she seemed; and as people like to be thanked, I sometimes wonder that
we continued to throw our bread upon these ungrateful waters. Milly was
specially impatient under this treatment, and protested against it, and
finally refused to accompany me into poor Beauty's bed-room.
'I think, my good Meg,' said I one day, as I stood by her bed--she was now
recovering with the sure reascent of youth--'that you ought to thank Miss
Milly.'
'I'll _not_ thank her,' said Beauty, doggedly.
'Very well, Meg; I only thought I'd ask you, for I think you ought.'
As I spoke, she very gently took just the tip of my finger, which hung
close to her coverlet, in her fingers, and drew it beneath, and before I
was aware, burying her head in the clothes, she suddenly clasped my hand
in both hers to her lips, and kissed it passionately, again and again,
sobbing.
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