Elizabeth

She's like the others, she had thought.

She does not really want to talk to me.

She knows no one does.

So for several weeks, a barrier stood between them.

When they met by chance, Sarah looked the other way, and Ermengarde felt too stiff and embarrassed to speak.

Sometimes they nodded to each other in passing, but there were times when they did not even exchange a greeting.

Miss Minchin made it so easy that at last they scarcely saw each other at all.

At that time it was noticed that Ermengarde was more stupid than ever, and that she looked listless and unhappy.

She used to sit in the window seat, huddled in a heap, and stare out of the window without speaking.

Once, Jessie, who was passing, stopped to look at her curiously.

What are you crying for, Ermengarde?

she asked.

I'm not crying, answered Ermengarde in a muffled, unsteady voice.

And she turned her plump back and took out her handkerchief and boldly hid her face in it.

That night, when Sarah went to her attic, she was later than usual.

She had been kept at work until after the hour at which the pupils went to bed, and after that, she had gone to her lessons in the lonely schoolroom.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she was surprised to see a glimmer of light coming from under the attic door.

Nobody goes there but myself, she thought quickly.

Someone has lighted a candle.

Someone had indeed lighted a candle, and it was not burning in the kitchen candlestick she was expected to use, but in one of those belonging to the pupils' bedrooms.