What would they say downstairs? What would they think? How could I keep from saying what wasn't true and yet shelter Mr. Russell?
"But I mustn't betray him! I have promised! Nobody is to know!" I said aloud.
I didn't dare to go back, though I knew they were expecting me. I stood leaning against the table, counting the moments, in a sort of dull, half-stupid state. Perhaps if I waited long enough, Mr. Armstrong would get tired, and go away.
All at once father shouted "Kitty!"
I said "Yes," so as he couldn't possibly have heard.
"Kitty, make haste!" he called again. "What are you after, child? Come along!"
There was no help for it. I had to go. I went downstairs step by step, holding on to the banisters. As soon as father saw me, he said— "Make haste, child!" and went back to the others; so I had to follow alone.
Mr. Armstrong was the first to catch sight of my face. "Why, Kitty! what is wrong?" says he. "The child is ill, surely."
Father got bold of me, and the next moment I was sobbing as if my heart would break.
They were all in a puzzle at first. Mother thought I was taken sick, and Mrs. Withers brought out a bottle of smelling-salts. Father seemed to understand better, for I heard him say,— "Something is worrying the child."