"But that might come, dear; I think it would come."
"I know it would not," replied Dora quietly. There was a dreaminess in
her voice, as if she were repeating something she had heard or said
before.
Suddenly Mrs. Glynde rose from her chair, and going towards her daughter,
she knelt on the soft carpet, still afraid to look at her face. There was
something suggestive and strange in the attitude, for the elder woman was
crouching at the feet of the younger.
"My darling," she whispered, "I know, I _know!_ I have known all along.
But mind, no one else knows, no one suspects! _It_ can never come to you
again in this life. Women are like that, it never comes to them twice. To
some it never comes at all; think of that, dear, it never comes to them
at all! Surely that is worse?"
Dora took the nervous, eager hands in her own quiet grasp and held them
still. But she said nothing.
"I have prayed night and morning," the elder woman went on in the same
pleading whisper, "that strength might be given you, and I think my
prayers were heard.
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