"She will love you, Cousin
Charlotte, I know she will. She can't help it. Now I am going out to
think about it all. Oh, I _am_ so happy. Thank you ever so much,
Cousin Charlotte," and she kissed her impetuously again.

"You are easily made happy, my Penelope," said the little lady with a
sigh, as she put her arm around Penelope's shoulders and gave her a little
squeeze; and she sighed again as she thought of her Esther, and the
expression on her face. "I had that same sort of temper once," she said
to herself, "so I ought to understand her, and help her through; but oh,
I pray she may be spared the sorrow I had to bear, and the bitterness of
such regrets."

But whatever Esther felt she said nothing. She never once spoke to
Penelope, then or later, of her singing lessons, or mentioned the subject
to any one, and when Penelope returned from her lessons, full of talk of
what had been seen and done and said, Esther might have been dumb and deaf
for all the share she took in the conversation. But she carefully avoided
Edless on those days; in fact she rarely went to the cottage at all from
the time Mademoiselle made her kind offer to Penelope.

No one knew it, though, for she went off as usual three times a week in
the direction of Edless; but usually she turned aside when she got out of
sight, and wandered on the moor hour after hour, lonely and most unhappy,
breaking her heart for neglecting her beloved Mademoiselle, yet such a
victim to her temper that she could not conquer it. Often and often she
threw herself on the turf in a passion of tears, angry, wretched, ashamed.
More than once, in a better mood, she determined not to be so weak and
contemptible, but to be nobler and braver, and truer to her aims.
She hoped Mademoiselle did not notice anything and understand. But how
could Mademoiselle help noticing? She saw and grieved; and in part she
understood, but she said nothing. She knew that time alone could set
things right. Esther must learn by experience. But how that lesson was
to come, or how bitter was to be the experience, she little dreamed until
the dreadful day I am going to tell you of.

To begin with it seemed like any other day. Penelope had to go to Edless,
for it was one of her singing-lesson days, and Esther, jealous, angry,
wretched, had watched her start, envying her and full of wrath.
She herself had not been to Edless for a fortnight, and she had lately
felt shy about going again after