“Why, Judy!” I said, “what IS the matter?” But the sobs would not allow her to answer. I was too frightened to put any more questions, and so stood silent—my chest feeling like an empty tomb that waited for death to fill it. At length with a strong effort she checked the succession of her sobs, and spoke.
“They are killing auntie. She looks like a ghost already,” said the child, again bursting into tears.
“Tell me, Judy, what CAN I do for her?”
“You must find out, Mr Walton. If you loved her as much as I do, you would find out what to do.”
“But she will not let me do anything for her.”
“Yes, she will. She says you promised to help her some day.”
“Did she send you, then?”
“No. She did not send me.”
“Then how—what—what can I do!”
“Oh, you exact people! You must have everything square and in print before you move. If it had been me now, wouldn’t I have been off like a shot! Do get your hat, Mr Walton.”