"I sent her into town for some things we wanted, but she must soon be home. A dog, did you say? I've heard nothing of a dog. Indeed, Hetty does not rightly know yet what happened to Miss Flora."
"Well, Hetty went, as you, I am sure, know, to look for the little cat. Zelica led her a regular chase, and when she got back the child was gone."
"Yes," said Matty, "and the shawls on the path, and the cat's basket all torn, and some shrimps a girl gave her all mashed up. Oh, ma'am! she dreams of it often—you never saw the like."
"What had really happened was this. Flo woke up to find the dog—a big, rough-haired creature-tearing at the cat's basket; and, I confess, I think it was well for Zelica that she was not in it; but the dog would not have hurt Flo on any account; in fact, he did not touch her. She screamed for Hetty, the dog got at the shrimps and tried to eat them, and while he was at that work my poor little girl got up and tried to run away. She actually dragged herself some way down the steep path, when the dog came after her, and she fell. Mr. Eyre thinks that the creature saved her from falling over the edge, for he was sitting between her and it, in great distress. He belongs to the stationmaster, and is a most good-natured dog, very fond of children."
Matty had seen her sister come in, but Mrs. Eyre did not, her back being turned to the door. Hetty stood, listening and trembling, and now seemed about to steal out again; but Matty stopped her.
"Now, Hetty," said she, "you know what really happened."
Mrs. Eyre turned round, and Hetty covered her face with her hands. Mrs. Eyre fully expected a burst of tears, and "Oh, I'm so sorry, ma'am!" but there were neither tears nor words.
"My poor girl! My poor Hetty! Have you never a word to say to me?"
"No, not one." Mrs. Hardy spoke for her. "There's something come to the girl, ma'am, for dear knows her tears and her tongue used to be ready enough. I used to be tired hearing, 'Oh I'm so sorry, mother!'"
"Oh, I used to say that," said Hetty; "but I was only sorry because things were broken, or because you were angry. I was not sorry for my own fault, because I did not think it a fault—only a misfortune. Though Matty warned me, and made me promise to pray against it, I never did—I forgot. I thought how unlucky I was to be so thoughtless; but since I've been at home I've been thinking, and I see now that it's a sin. Oh, ma'am, if you could only forgive me, I'd take heart and try to do better. I'll take Matty's way now, for I'm sure it's the right one."