"
"Did you ever see her before?"
"No, Ma’am."
"Where did you find her?"
"She found me, up on the hill!"
"What were you talking about?"
Ellen was silent.
"What were you talking about?" repeated Miss Fortune.
"I had rather not tell."
"And I had rather you _should_ tell — so out with it."
"I was alone with Miss Humphreys," said Ellen; "and it is no
matter what we were talking about — it doesn't concern anybody
but her and me."
"Yes it does, it concerns me," said her aunt, "and I choose to
know; — what were you talking about?"
Ellen was silent.
"Will you tell me?"
"No," said Ellen, low, but resolutely.
"I vow you're enough to try the patience of Job! Look here,"
said Miss Fortune, setting down what she had in her hands — "I
_will_ know! I don't care what it was, but you shall tell me, or
I'll find a way to make you. I'll give you such a —"
"Stop! stop!" said Ellen wildly — "you must not speak to me
so! Mamma never did, and you have no _right_ to! If Mamma or
Papa were here, you would not _dare_ talk to me so."
The answer to this was a sharp box on the ear from Miss
Fortune's wet hand. Half stunned, less by the blow than the
tumult of feeling it roused, Ellen stood a moment, and then
throwing down her towel, she ran out of the room, shivering
with passion, and brushing off the soapy water left on her
face as if it had been her aunt's very hand.
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