The child looked up at her, with eyes dilated to their utmost size in wonder, evidently unable to credit what she heard.
“I am rich,” said Kate; “you never need work any more. Look in my face and you’ll see I speak truth.”
The child gave a long, earnest gaze, and answered. “I believe what you say. I know you are good.”
“Then come,” said Kate. But the child drew back.
“No,” she said, “it wouldn’t be right. Mother told me to stay with uncle till I grew to be a woman; that he was a hard man, but my only friend, and I promised I would do it.”
“But your mother did not know that I would make you my sister. If she had known that you could go away to a fine house, have plenty of clothes, have books to read, and have a sister to love you, don’t you think she would have been willing?”
The child looked puzzled. She fixed her large eyes, in doubt and inquiry, on Kate, as if she could interrogate our heroine’s very soul.
“Maybe she would,” she answered frankly, at last. “She was always afraid of uncle, and often cried after he’d been to see us. But I promised her I’d stay with him. Is it right to break promises? Wouldn’t that be to tell a lie?”
Kate felt her eyes shrink before the gaze of the innocent child. She was no adept in casuistry, and if she had been, the inquiry of the little girl, thus put, would have silenced her. Even the strong instinct to escape could not induce her to mislead one so young and pure.
“God help me!” was her answer, wringing her hands. “I must then stay here. Oh! if I were dead.”