The Moonstone - Page 267/404

"It would have been no very kind look, perhaps, if you had known how

I hated Miss Rachel. I believe I found out you were in love with her,

before you knew it yourself. She used to give you roses to wear in your

button-hole. Ah, Mr. Franklin, you wore my roses oftener than either you

or she thought! The only comfort I had at that time, was putting my rose

secretly in your glass of water, in place of hers--and then throwing her

rose away.

"If she had been really as pretty as you thought her, I might have borne

it better. No; I believe I should have been more spiteful against her

still. Suppose you put Miss Rachel into a servant's dress, and took her

ornaments off? I don't know what is the use of my writing in this way.

It can't be denied that she had a bad figure; she was too thin. But

who can tell what the men like? And young ladies may behave in a manner

which would cost a servant her place. It's no business of mine. I can't

expect you to read my letter, if I write it in this way. But it does

stir one up to hear Miss Rachel called pretty, when one knows all the

time that it's her dress does it, and her confidence in herself.

"Try not to lose patience with me, sir. I will get on as fast as I can

to the time which is sure to interest you--the time when the Diamond was

lost.

"But there is one thing which I have got it on my mind to tell you

first.

"My life was not a very hard life to bear, while I was a thief. It

was only when they had taught me at the reformatory to feel my own

degradation, and to try for better things, that the days grew long and

weary. Thoughts of the future forced themselves on me now. I felt

the dreadful reproach that honest people--even the kindest of honest

people--were to me in themselves. A heart-breaking sensation of

loneliness kept with me, go where I might, and do what I might, and see

what persons I might. It was my duty, I know, to try and get on with my

fellow-servants in my new place. Somehow, I couldn't make friends with

them. They looked (or I thought they looked) as if they suspected what

I had been. I don't regret, far from it, having been roused to make the

effort to be a reformed woman--but, indeed, indeed it was a weary life.

You had come across it like a beam of sunshine at first--and then you

too failed me. I was mad enough to love you; and I couldn't even attract

your notice. There was great misery--there really was great misery in

that.