“I love her with my whole heart,” replied Amy sobbing. “But even she must not come between Cornelius and me. If it is anything affecting him, his wife has a right to know about it—a greater right than any one else. No one has a right to conceal it from her!”

“Why do you think that?” Miss Dasomma was anxious to shift the track of the conversation, for she did not see how to answer Amy’s appeal. She could not lie, but neither did she feel at liberty to tell her the truth of Corney’s involvement with his uncle, and if she continued to evade her question, the poor child might imagine something even more dreadful.

“Why, miss, I have to do what I can for him, and I have a right to know what there is to be done.”

“But can you not trust his own family?”

“Yes, surely,” replied Amy, “if they were not angry with him. But he’s mine, miss! And I’ve got to look after him. If anybody’s not doing right by him, I ought to be there to see him through it!”

Here Miss Dasomma’s prudence left her for a moment.

“That’s all you know, Amy!” she blurted out—and bit her lip almost the same moment, angry with herself for her hasty remark.

“What is it?” Amy cried. “I must know what it is! You shall not keep me in the dark! I must do my duty to my husband! If you do not tell me, I will go to him.”

In terror at what might be the result of her hasty remark, Miss Dasomma faltered, reddened, and betrayed considerable embarrassment. A prudent person, lapsing into a dilemma, is specially discomfitted. She had committed no offence against love, had been guilty of no selfishness or meanness, yet was in a miserable predicament. Amy saw, and was all the more convinced and determined. She persisted, and Miss Dasomma knew that she would not give up.

“How can you wonder,” she said with confused vagueness, “when you know he deceived you and never told them he was going to marry you? How can you wonder that one who could behave like that would be only too likely to do other things?”

“Then there is something more—something I know nothing about!” exclaimed Amy. “I suspected it from Hester’s face. I must know what it is! I may be young and silly, but I know what a wife owes to her husband! It is my business.”

Miss Dasomma was silent. She had awakened a small volcano, which, though without intending harm against vineyards and villages, would go to its ends regardless of them. She must either answer her questions or persuade her not to ask any.

“I beg you,” she said, “not to do anything rash. Can you not trust friends who have proved themselves faithful?”

“Yes, for myself,” answered Amy. “But it is my husband!”—she almost screamed the word—“And I will trust nobody to take care of him. They can’t know how to treat him or he would love—”