“Doctor,” said she, plaintively, “have I strength enough to go to him?”
He shook his head mournfully, in token of dissent.
“Am I too ill?”
“You are too weak, my poor child; you have not strength for such a journey.”
“But I have great courage, doctor, and I can bear far more fatigue than you would think.”
He shook his head again.
“You do not know,” said she, in a low but earnest voice, “that I was reared in hardship, brought up in want, and cold, and misery. Ay, and I have never forgotten it!”
He smiled; it was half in compassion, half in disbelief.
“Do you know me?—do you know who I am?” asked she, eagerly.
“I know it all, my poor child—I know it all,” said he, sadly.