Verty turned again toward Redbud.

She was standing up--one hand resting upon the arm of the sofa, from which she had risen, the other placed upon her heart, as if to still its tumultuous beating.
Verty's troubled glance fled to the tender, sorrowful face, and asked why she had risen.

Redbud, suppressing her emotion by a powerful effort, said, almost coldly, that she felt unwell, and hoped he would let her go up stairs.

Indeed, (with a trembling voice), she was--not well: he must excuse her; if--if--if he would--come again.
And finding her voice failing her, poor Redbud abruptly left the room, and running to her chamber, threw herself on the bed, and burst into a passion of tears.
She had obeyed Miss Lavinia.
Yes! with a throbbing heart, eyes full of tears, a tenderness toward her boy-playmate she had never felt before, she had preserved her calmness.

Crying was not wrong she hoped--and that was left her.
So the child cried, and cried, until nature exhausted herself, and rested..