The small, neat face had lost for the time a great part of its beauty,
and was dark as a little thunder-cloud. Its black, shadowy brows were
drawn together over its luminous black eyes; its red lips were large and
pouting, and their likeness to a rosebud gone.
Its cheeks were swollen, and its whole aspect revealed the spirit of
wrath roused at last, and the fire alight in the furnace of the bosom.
She tried to smile, but what came was the smile of a wound rather than a
mouth.
"My poor Amy! what is the matter?" cried Hester, sorry, but hardly
surprised; for plainly things had been going from bad to worse.
The girl burst into a passionate fit of weeping. She threw herself in
wild abandonment on the floor, and sobbed; then, as if to keep herself
from screaming aloud, stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth, kicked
with her little feet, and beat her little hands on the floor. She was
like a child in a paroxysm of rage--only that with her its extravagance
came of the effort to overcome it.
"Amy, dear, you mustn't be naughty!" said Hester, kneeling down beside
her and taking hold of her arm.
"I'm not naughty, miss--at least I am doing all I can to get over it,"
she sobbed.
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