‘By the way,’ he added, in a lower tone, ‘what do you intend to do about that child, Lizzie?’ jerking his head towards Rosa and the baby.
‘What should I do about it?’ she returned. ‘I know no place to send it to. It was in the charge of Mammy Lila, but she died of the fever. I suppose I must keep it here.’
‘Where are its parents?’ demanded the planter inquisitively.
‘It has none, Mr Courtney, or none who will own it.’
‘Dear me! That is very strange, and very awkward. Who confided it to your father’s care?’
‘I am not at liberty to tell you, sir.’
‘Do you know then?’
She paused for a moment, and then answered, in a husky tone,—
‘Yes.’
‘And you will not tell me, Lizzie?’