At the same moment, her maid entered with her bonnet and shawl. She
huddled them on anyhow. "Pack my things," she said, "and bring them to
Mr. Bruff's." I attempted to approach her--I was shocked and grieved,
but, it is needless to say, not offended. I only wished to say to her,
"May your hard heart be softened! I freely forgive you!" She pulled down
her veil, and tore her shawl away from my hand, and, hurrying out, shut
the door in my face. I bore the insult with my customary fortitude. I
remember it now with my customary superiority to all feeling of offence.
Mr. Bruff had his parting word of mockery for me, before he too hurried
out, in his turn.
"You had better not have explained yourself, Miss Clack," he said, and
bowed, and left the room.
The person with the cap-ribbons followed.
"It's easy to see who has set them all by the ears together," she said.
"I'm only a poor servant--but I declare I'm ashamed of you!" She too
went out, and banged the door after her.
I was left alone in the room. Reviled by them all, deserted by them all,
I was left alone in the room.
Is there more to be added to this plain statement of facts--to this
touching picture of a Christian persecuted by the world? No! my diary
reminds me that one more of the many chequered chapters in my life ends
here.
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