"Well?" said Horatio.
"About other folks' children," said Lettie, with an effort. "If father got tired o' me, an' wasn't to want to have me no longer, I'd have to be a beggar, then, wouldn't I?"
"Likely he'll get tired o' you!" cried Hor. "I'd work for ye then! He didn't say nought o' the kind, though."
"He did say some'at about never doin' it again, an' he said he'd give way to mother once, but he wasn't goin' to twice," said Lettie. It was strange to hear that tiny fair-haired child discussing the matter so calmly. "An' he did say once, when mother gave a bit to Ailie, that 'twas taken out o' his own children's mouths."
"You're one of us. 'Tain't like Ailie. She's a stranger, an' you're every inch our sister. Don't think o' that again! Father didn't mean nothing; he's only bothered an' worried, an' don't hardly know what he's about. I say, that ain't Ailie, sure!"
A little figure, crouching in the shadow of the wall, attracted his attention, and he made a sudden bound forward, but before he could reach the spot, it had vanished, and after-searching proved useless. He gave up at length, and almost ascribed the whole to fancy.
Yet it was Ailie herself that he had seen—Ailie, after a second long day of concealment and fasting, venturing at length to creep out in search of food. She felt very weak and craving, but she had not dared to appear earlier, lest John Forsyth should find her and take her off to the workhouse that night. The more feeble grew her little frame, the stronger waxed her dread of going thither—unreasoning childish dread, but none the less real for that.
Hearing Horatio's exclamation, and seeing him run towards her, she had fled with all speed, and rushed round the side of the house, and into the street, before he saw the direction she had taken.
There, without delaying a moment, though with shaking limbs and heaving breath, she hurried along, and never stopped till she found herself at the entrance of the broad neighbouring thoroughfare, with its handsome shops; its plate glass windows, full of dresses, bonnets, and ribbons; its bakers and confectioners, more tempting still; its strings of cabs and carriages; and its crowds of well-dressed foot-passengers on the pavement.
Ailie had never yet known what it was to beg. But now she felt so hungry and weak and faint, that she longed to ask the passers-by to give her something, as she stood in a little sheltered corner, close to a shop-window. Sometimes she tried to begin to say, "Please give me a penny," but each time the words seemed to stick and swell in her throat, and no sound came.