By-the-by, she still has a scar on her forehead, I often
wondered how it came there."
Ida winced.
"What a little termagant you must have been!" exclaimed Waymark,
laughing. "How hard it is to fancy you at that age, Ida.--What was
the quarrel all about?"
"I can't speak of it," she replied, in a low, sad voice. "It is so
long ago; and I want to forget it."
Waymark kept silence.
"Do you wish me to be her friend?" Ida asked, suddenly looking up.
"Certainly not if you dislike the thought."
"No, no. But you think it would be doing good? you would like me to
help your friend if I can?"
"Yes, I should," was Waymark's reply.
"Then I hope she will be willing to let me go and see her. I will do
my very best. Let us lose no time in trying. It is such a strange
thing that we should meet again in this way; perhaps it is something
more than chance."
Waymark smiled.
"You think I am superstitious?" she asked quickly. "I often feel so.
I have all sorts of hopes and faiths that you would laugh at."
Ida's thoughts were busy that night with the past and the future.
The first mention of Harriet's name had given her a shock; it
brought back with vividness the saddest moments of her life; it
awoke a bitter resentment which mere memory had no longer kept the
power to revive.
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