“Don’t, don’t do that,” whispered Kate, excitedly. “Why are you afraid of me?”
“Let me go; oh! please let me go.”
“Yes, directly,” whispered Kate, still holding her tightly; “but please, Becky, I want you to help me. I am in great trouble, dear—great trouble.”
“Eh?” said the girl, faintly, “you?”
“Yes, and I do so want help. Will you do something for me?”
“No, I can’t,” whispered the girl. “I’m no use; I oughtn’t to be here; don’t look at me, please; and pray, pray let me go.”
“Yes, I will, dear; but you will help me. Come to my room when your mother has been.”
The girl turned her white grotesque face, and stared at her with dilated eyes.
“You will, won’t you?”
Becky shook her head.