The girl heard her
as she entered the room, and was seized with one of those
emotional impulses to which she could never attribute a cause.
She only felt that the candle would burn better, the packing go
easier, the world be happier, if she could give and receive some
human love. The impulse had come before to-day, but never so
strongly. She knelt down by her cousin's side and took her in her
arms.
Miss Bartlett returned the embrace with tenderness and warmth.
But she was not a stupid woman, and she knew perfectly well that
Lucy did not love her, but needed her to love. For it was in
ominous tones that she said, after a long pause:
"Dearest Lucy, how will you ever forgive me?"
Lucy was on her guard at once, knowing by bitter experience what
forgiving Miss Bartlett meant. Her emotion relaxed, she modified
her embrace a little, and she said:
"Charlotte dear, what do you mean? As if I have anything to
forgive!"
"You have a great deal, and I have a very great deal to forgive
myself, too.
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