Baser terror, the parent of baser suspicion, had hardened that woman’s heart for the while; and all she answered was,—­

“Get up! what is this foolery?”

“I will not!  I will not rise till you have told me.”

“What?”

“Whether”—­and she forced the words slowly out in a low whisper, “whether you know—­anything of—­of—­Mr. Thurnall’s money—­his belt?”

“Is the girl mad!  Belt!  Money?  Do you take me for a thief, wench!”

“No! no! no!  Only say you—­you know nothing of it!”

“Psha! girl!  Go to your school:”  and the old woman tried to rise.

“Only say that! only let me know that it is a dream—­a hideous dream which the devil put into my wicked, wicked heart—­and let me know that I am the basest, meanest of daughters for harbouring such a thought a moment!  It will be comfort, bliss, to what I endure!  Only say that, and I will crawl to your feet, and beg for your forgiveness,—­ask you to beat me, like a child, as I shall deserve!  Drive me out, if you will, and let me die, as I shall deserve!  Only say the word, and take this fire from before my eyes, which burns day and night,—­till my brain is dried up with misery and shame!  Mother, mother, speak!”

But then burst out the horrible suspicion, which falsehood, suspecting all others of being false as itself, had engendered in that mother’s heart.

“Yes, viper!  I see your plan!  Do you think I do not know that you are in love with that fellow?”

Grace started as if she had been shot, and covered her face with her hands.

“Yes! and want me to betray myself—­to tell a lie about myself, that you may curry favour with him—­a penniless, unbelieving—­”

“Mother!” almost shrieked Grace, “I can bear no more!  Say that it is a lie, and then kill me if you will!”

“It is a lie, from beginning to end!  What else should it be?” And the woman, in the hurry of her passion, confirmed the equivocation with an oath; and then ran on, as if to turn her own thoughts, as well as Grace’s, into commonplaces about “a poor old mother, who cares for nothing but you; who has worked her fingers to the bone for years to leave you a little money when she is gone!  I wish I were gone!  I wish I were out of this wretched ungrateful world, I do!  To have my own child turn against me in my old age!”

Grace lifted her hands from her face, and looked steadfastly at her mother.  And behold, she knew not how or why, she felt that her mother had forsworn herself.  A strong shudder passed through her; she rose and was leaving the room in silence.

“Where are you going, hussy?  Stop!” screamed her mother between her teeth, her rage and cruelty rising, as it will with weak natures, in the very act of triumph,—­“to your young man?”

“To pray,” said Grace, quietly; and locking herself into the empty schoolroom, gave vent to all her feelings, but not in tears.