For the next four hours the poor girl suffered
the sharpest pain she had ever known; for now
she clearly saw the strait her folly had betrayed
her into. Frank Evan was a proud man, and
would not ask her love again, believing she had
tacitly refused it; and how could she tell him that
she had trifled with the heart she wholly loved and
longed to make her own? She could not confide
in Aunt Pen, for that worldly lady would have
no sympathy to bestow. She longed for her
mother; but there was no time to write, for Frank
was going on the morrow, --might even then be
gone; and as this fear came over her, she covered
up her face and wished that she were dead. Poor
Debby! her last mistake was sadder than her first,
and she was reaping a bitter harvest from her summer's
sowing. She sat and thought till her cheeks
burned and her temples throbbed; but she dared
not ease her pain with tears. The gong sounded
like a Judgment-Day trump of doom, and she
trembled at the idea of confronting many eyes with
such a telltale face; but she could not stay behind,
for Aunt Pen must know the cause.
Pages:
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145