"Well," he said, with the kindest intention, "if there are any of my books that you would like to read, I'm willing to lend them to you."
"Oh no, thank you," she said hastily, colouring as she spoke, and giving a quick little movement of the head, as if the suggestion annoyed her. "I don't want to borrow your books, Mr. Betts."
He looked at her curiously. She was certainly a very strange girl. But he liked her. He was beginning to feel considerable confidence in her.
"I must go now," she said. "I don't like to leave father for long."
"Stay a moment," said Michael in a timid, hesitating way. "I wish you'd do something for me before you go."
"What is it?" she asked.
"Just kneel down and say a prayer for that poor little child. I want to pray, but I can't. My heart is so hard—and—and—it's years since I tried—but I'd like to hear you."
She looked startled and alarmed.
"Oh, I can't," she said; "I can't pray out loud like that."
"Say it in a whisper," he suggested.