“Well, I am what I am!”

“No doubt, and among the good you are the best—­but which of them all can guess that?  Every one to some extent plays a part.  And you!  What wonder if they never see in you anything but that you are unhappy?  God knows it is ten thousand times a pity that you should be!  But who can take pleasure in always seeing a gloomy face?”

“I have never uttered a single word of complaint of my troubles to any one of them!” cried Paula, drawing herself up proudly.

“That is just the difficulty,” replied Perpetua.  “They took you in, and thought it gave them a claim on your person and also on your sorrows.  Perhaps they longed to comfort you; for, believe me, child, there is a secret pleasure in doing so.  Any one who is able to show us sympathy feels that it does him more good than it does us.  I know life!  Has it never occurred to you that you are perhaps depriving your relations in the great house of a pleasure, perhaps even doing them an injury by locking up your heart from them?  Your grief is the best side of you, and of that you do indeed allow them to catch a glimpse; but where the pain is you carefully conceal.  Every good man longs to heal a wound when he sees it, but your whole demeanor cries out:  ’Stay where you are, and leave me in peace.’—­If only you were good to your uncle!”

“But I am, and I have felt prompted a hundred times to confide in him—­but then. . .”

“Well—­then?”

“Only look at him, Betta; see how he lies as cold as marble, rigid and apathetic, half dead and half alive.  At first the words often rose to my lips. . .”

“And now?”

“Now all the worst is so long past; I feel I have forfeited the right to complain to him of all that weighs me down.”

“Hm,” said Perpetua who had no answer ready.  “But take heart, my child.  Orion has at any rate learnt how far he may venture.  You can hold your head high enough and look cool enough.  Bear all that cannot be mended, and if an inward voice does not deceive me, he whom we seek. . .”

“That was what brought me here.  Are none of our messengers returned yet?”

“Yes, the little Nabathaean is come,” replied her nurse with some hesitation, “and he indeed—­but for God’s sake, child, form no vain hopes!  Hiram came to me soon after sun-down. . .”

“Betta!” screamed the girl, clinging to her nurse’s arm.  “What has he heard, what news does he bring?”

“Nothing, nothing!  How you rush at conclusions!  What he found out is next to nothing.  I had only a minute to speak to Hiram.  To-morrow morning he is to bring the man to me.  The only thing he told me. . .”

“By Christ’s Wounds!  What was it?”

“He said that the messenger had heard of an elderly recluse, who had formerly been a great warrior.”

“My father, my father!” cried Paula.  “Hiram is sitting by the fire with the others.  Fetch him here at once—­at once; I command you, Perpetua, do you hear?  Oh best, dearest Betta!  Come with me; we will go to him.”