There was no movement or word for a few seconds; then the girl felt that
the young lady was sitting down beside her.
"I guess how it is with you," said the latter. "That was your mother."
She waved her hand towards the tombstone. Elizabeth looked up at her as
if inquiring of herself whether there should be confidence. The lady's
manner was so desirous, so anxious, that the girl decided there should
be confidence. "It was my mother," she said, "my only friend."
"But your father, Mr. Henchard. He is living?"
"Yes, he is living," said Elizabeth-Jane.
"Is he not kind to you?"
"I've no wish to complain of him."
"There has been a disagreement?"
"A little."
"Perhaps you were to blame," suggested the stranger.
"I was--in many ways," sighed the meek Elizabeth. "I swept up the coals
when the servants ought to have done it; and I said I was leery;--and he
was angry with me."
The lady seemed to warm towards her for that reply. "Do you know the
impression your words give me?" she said ingenuously. "That he is a
hot-tempered man--a little proud--perhaps ambitious; but not a bad man."
Her anxiety not to condemn Henchard while siding with Elizabeth was
curious.
"O no; certainly not BAD," agreed the honest girl. "And he has not even
been unkind to me till lately--since mother died.
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