‘Yes, and that is one reason I don’t want to give her up; it seems so sad to send Maurice’s child away leaving such an impression. One thing I am thankful for, that it will be all over before grandmamma and Bessie Merrifield come.’
At that moment there was a knock at the door, and a small figure appeared in a scarlet robe, bare feet, and dishevelled hair.
‘Mysie, dear child! What’s the matter? who is ill?’
‘Oh, please come, mamma, Dolly is choking and crying in such a dreadful way, and I can’t stop her.’
‘I give up, Lily. This is mother-work,’ said Miss Mohun.
Hurrying upstairs, Lady Merrifield found very distressing sounds issuing from Dolores’s room; sobs, not loud, but almost strangled into a perfect agony of choking down by the resolute instinct, for it was scarcely will.
‘My dear, my dear, don’t stop it!’ she exclaimed, lifting up the girl in her arms. ‘Let it out; cry freely; never mind. She will be better soon, Mysie dear. Only get me a glass of water, and find a fresh handkerchief. There, there, that’s right!’ as Dolores let herself lean on the kind breast, and conscious that the utmost effects of the disturbance had come, allowed her long-drawn sobs to come freely, and moaned as they shook her whole frame, though without screaming. Her aunt propped her up on her own bosom, parted back her hair, kissed her, and saying she was getting better, sent Mysie back to her bed. The first words that were gasped out between the rending sobs were, ‘Oh! is my—he—to be tried?’
‘Most likely not, my dear. He has had full time to get away, and I hope it is so.’
‘But wasn’t he there? Haven’t they got him? Weren’t they asking me about him, and saying I must be tried for stealing father’s cheque?’
‘You were dreaming, my poor child. They have not taken him, and I am quite sure you will not be tried anyway.’