What right had she, a stranger, to talk about Mrs.Eastwood and mamma--to talk to papa as though he were an injured man--what right?
I tried hard to keep all my indignation and anger, my fear and dread of what was to follow, to myself, but I could not bear it.

I believe my heart would have broken but for Emma, my nurse.

She found me behind the great cluster of laurel trees crying bitterly; and when she took me in her arms to console me, I told her all about it--told her every word.

I know how she listened in dismay, for her easy, bony face grew pale, and she said nothing for some few minutes, then she cried out: "Oh, Miss Laura, you must be good and patient; don't set yourself against her--perhaps she means no harm." "She means harm and she will do it," I cried; "why should she speak in that tone to papa, and why does she look at him as though he were to be pitied because mamma is ill?
It is mamma who wants pity; she is twenty times better lying there sick and ill than other mothers who are well and strong and go about everywhere." "God bless the child!" cried my nurse; "why of course she is.

Now, Miss Laura, you know I love you, and what I say to you is always because I do love you.