Then she left the room.
A few minutes elapsed, and then a pale, dark-haired woman, with a pitiful, almost imploring aspect, entered the room, clasped her hands tightly together, and stood gazing in Richard’s Pellet’s face.
“I’m going to take you away from here, Ellen,” he said.
For a few moments the pale face lit up as with some show of animation; the woman exclaimed—“To see my child, Richard?”
“I’m going to take you away from here,” he replied, coldly; “so be ready to-morrow.”
The light faded from the countenance of the woman in an instant, to leave it dull and inanimate. She pressed her hand for an instant upon her side, and winced as if a pain had shot through her. Then slowly drawing a scrap of needlework from her pocket, she began to sew hastily.
“I have made arrangements for you to stay at an institution where you will be well cared for,” he continued; “that is, provided that you behave well.”
The faint shadow of a sad smile crossed the pale face as the woman glanced at him for a moment, and then sighed and looked down.
“Do you hear what I say?” said Richard, roughly.
“Yes, Richard,” she said, quietly, and as if quite resigned to her fate; “I never do anything that you would not wish, only when—when—when my head gets hot and strange. I am quite ready, but—”