now strolling about in knots and couples, conversing and enjoying the
lovely moonlight. Wandering a little distance away by myself, I sat down
on a bench under a tree, and presently Yoletta came to me there, and
closely scrutinized my face.

"Have you nothing to tell me?" she asked. "Are you happier now?"

"Yes, dearest, for I have been spoke to very kindly; and I should have
been happier if only--" But I checked myself in time, and said no more
to her about my conversation with the mother. To myself I said: "Oh,
that island, that island! Why can't I forget its miserable customs, or,
at any rate, stick to my own resolution to hold my tongue about them?"






Chapter 14

From that day I was frequently allowed to enter the Mother's Room, but,
as I had feared, these visits failed to bring me into any closer
relationship with the lady of the house. She had indeed forgotten my
offense: I was one of her children, sharing equally with the others in
her impartial affection, and privileged to sit at her feet to relate to
her the incidents of the day, or describe all I had seen, and sometimes
to touch her thin white hand with my lips. But the distance separating
us was not forgotten. At the two first interviews she had taught me,
once for all, that it was for me to love, honor, and serve her, and that
anything beyond that--any attempt to win her confidence, to enter into