IT was a very, very sad time for Hetty. She did not know, when she used to cry and bewail herself over her misfortunes, that she could be as unhappy as she was now. She longed for news of little Flo, and many a time did she steal up to Adelaide Terrace to question Mrs. Goodenough, at times when she knew that Mr. Eyre was out.
Worthy Mrs. Goodenough gave her scant information, and less comfort. If she might be believed, Mr. Eyre spent a good deal of his scanty leisure in telling her that he thought Hetty very little better than a murderer, and that she should never so much as see Miss Flo again.
Hetty was so dejected that she believed all this, and even thought that Mr. Eyre did not say a word too much; but Matty stoutly declared that Mrs. Goodenough invented these speeches for Hetty's benefit.
Mrs. Hardy had no reason to complain of Hetty now, for she worked hard all day, and never cared to go out, except for her melancholy pilgrimage to Adelaide Terrace, or to go to church.
Meantime, little Flo was really very ill, and suffering greatly both in mind and body. Her terror about the big black dog was such that the doctor said that no questions must be asked about her part in the day's misadventures, nor must she be in any way reminded of them.
Mrs. Eyre, however, did not forget poor Hetty, and she took some trouble to find out that the story she had told her master was the true one. The shrimp-girl, and a lad who had met the poor girl in the lane, and put her into the right road, confirmed Hetty's story. Not many women, with little Flo before their eyes, would have taken so much trouble about poor, heedless Hetty, who certainly was fortunate in her mistress.
After about a month Flo got better. The pain decreased, and she became calmer and more like her little self. Of course, Mrs. Eyre was anxious to get home, for the three children there were both unhappy and troublesome under Mrs. Goodenough's care. So as soon as it was at all safe Mr. Eyre came to R—, and Flo was carefully conveyed home.
Up to this time the child had not spoken of Hetty since her mother had silenced her constant cry for her. But as she grew stronger, and returned to her familiar home and her familiar habits, Mrs. Eyre became aware that there was something weighing on little Flo's heart,—some question that was often on her lips, though she seemed afraid to ask it. A little questioning soon made the child speak out.
"Mamma, you bid me speak no more of Hetty. I know the big dog must have killed Zelica, but did he kill my dear Hetty too?"
"Oh no, my dear child. Hetty is quite well, and safe in her mother's house."