Barfield's voice awakened a rebellious spirit
in Esther, and a lowering expression gathered above her eyes. She said--
"Had I told you, you would have sent me away then and there. I had only a
quarter's wages, and should have starved or gone and drowned myself."
"I'm sorry to hear you speak like that, Esther."
"It is trouble that makes me, ma'am, and I have had a great deal."
"Why did you not confide in me? I have not shown myself cruel to you, have
I?"
"No, indeed, ma'am. You are the best mistress a servant ever had, but--"
"But what?"
"Why, ma'am, it is this way.... I hated being deceitful--indeed I did. But
I can no longer think of myself. There is another to think for now."
There was in Mrs. Barfield's look something akin to admiration, and she
felt she had not been wholly wrong in her estimate of the girl's
character; she said, and in a different intonation--
"Perhaps you were right, Esther. I couldn't have kept you on, on account
of the bad example to the younger servants. I might have helped you with
money. But six months alone in London and in your condition! ...I am glad
you did not tell me, Esther; and as you say there is another to think of
now, I hope you will never neglect your child, if God give it to you
alive."
"I hope not, ma'am; I shall try and do my best.
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