Chapter Thirty Nine.
Kate uttered a gasp of relief on finding her fear needless, and darted towards the door, when, to her despair, the grotesque head was snatched back.
“Becky! Becky!” she cried piteously, as the door was closing; and she stood still, not daring to approach.
Her action had its effect, for the door was slowly pressed open again, and the bow of the washed-out cotton handkerchief which bandaged the woman’s face gradually appeared, the ends, which stuck up like a small pair of horns, trembling visibly. Then by very small degrees the woman’s forehead and the rest of the face appeared, with the eyes showing the white all round, as their owner gazed at the prisoner with her usual scared look intensified.
“Pray come in, Becky,” said Kate, softly; and she drew back towards a chair, so as to try and inspire a little confidence.
The head was slowly shaken, and the door drawn once more tightly against the woman’s long thin neck.
“Whatcher want?” she said, faintly.
“I want you to come in and talk to me,” said Kate in a low, appealing tone. “I want you to help me.”