Then she put her arms on the table and dropped her face into her arms.

Her voice became a low and thrilling murmur that just reached Eleanor's ears.
'I wish--oh! how I wish--that I had never come here!' Eleanor wavered a moment, then she said with gentleness, even with sweetness: 'You have nothing to blame yourself for.

Nor has anyone.

That picture accuses no one.

It draws the future--which no one can stop or change--but you.' 'In the first place,' said Lucy, still hiding her eyes and the bitter tears that dimmed them--'what does it mean?
Why am I the slayer ?--and--and--you the slain?
What have I done?
How have I deserved such a thing ?' Her voice failed her.