Nor did he draw back when, as she recovered, the first word that came to the wretched girl's lips was “Francis.”
“Mother, beg them to tell me about him. I'll do him no harm, indeed I won't, neither him nor them. Is he married? Or,” with a sudden gasp, “is he dead? I've thought sometimes he must be, or he never would have left the child and me. He was always fond of us, wasn't he, Franky?”
I told her, to the best of my knowledge, Mr. Charteris was living, but what had become of him we could none of us guess. We never saw him now.
Here, looking wistfully at me, Lydia seemed suddenly to remember old times, to become conscious of what she used to be, and what she was now. Also, in a vague sort of way, of how guilty she had been towards her mistress and our family. How long, or how deep the feeling was, I cannot judge, but she certainly did feel. She hung her head, and tried to draw herself away from my arm.
“I'd rather not trouble you, Miss Dora, thank you.”
I said it was no trouble, she had better lie still till she felt stronger.
“You don't mean that. Not such as me.”
I told her she must know she had done very wrong, but if she was sorry for it, I was sorry for her, and we would help her if we could to an honest livelihood.
“What, and the child too?”
I looked towards papa; he answered distinctly, but sternly:—“Principally for the sake of the child.”