“There is no use in rousing the village now!” he cried. “Do you mean to ruin, to destroy me? Minnie, if you betray me—if it is found that the child is drowned—people will say that—that,”—and his look of terror told a great deal more than his words.
“But you never threw him in—it was only foolish play.”
“Who can prove that? O Minnie, would you bring me to a jail, or perhaps to worse?”
“Then let us go ourselves,” exclaimed the little girl, divided between anxiety for her brother and fears for the lost child. “I must either go or send; and if there is danger to you—”
“We will go—do anything, only in pity be silent! Minnie, Minnie, you cannot tell how miserable I am!”
Without pausing another moment, both ran out of the cottage, only fearful lest they should be seen and detained. Tom helped Minnie over the low hedge; but she hardly needed help, so eager was she to reach the well. The rose-tint of sunset had now given place to evening’s gray, the dew was falling, dark clouds gathered over the sky; but heeding nothing, pausing for nothing, the Wingfields pressed on, and were soon standing by the side of the well.
