"Love me!" repeated Meg, her voice shrilly bitter; "and you do as the others do. You turn your face away when I come into the room."
"I am frightened, I am frightened. The girls say no one must look at you, or talk to you. I am frightened."
"Yes, I know you are frightened," Meg replied with softened gruffness. Elsie looked changed, she seemed a little wasted.
"I cannot sleep. Oh, Meg, I cannot sleep, I am so miserable!" sobbed Elsie, touching Meg's dress.
A pang of pity shot through Meg's heart.
"Hush! Elsie. Never mind, never mind," she said, stroking the child's hair. "Don't speak loud, some one may be listening."
"I wish I could tell," said Elsie, with heaving bosom. "I try to make myself tell. It stops here!" and the child put her hand to her throat. "I try to say I took it; but I can't, I can't. And you won't tell, Meg, you won't tell?"
"No, I won't," said Meg. "I won't. Do not be afraid, my pet."
She kept stroking Elsie's hair, grateful for that moment of solace.