“Oh, miss!” cried the woman, excitedly, pushing the door more open; “don’t, please don’t you go and do a thing like that. You’re too young and beautiful, and—oh, oh, oh! Please don’t talk so; I can’t abear it—pray!”
“Then help me, Becky, for I tell you I would sooner die.”
“What, than marry him?”
“Yes, than marry this dreadful man.”
“Then—then,” whispered the woman, after withdrawing her head to gaze back, “I feel that I dursn’t, and p’raps he’ll kill me for it—not as I seem to mind much, and mother would soon get over it, for I ain’t o’ no use—but I think I will try and help you. You want to get away?”
In her wild feeling of joy and excitement, Kate sprang toward the door, and she would have flung her arms round the unhappy woman’s neck. But before she could reach her the head was snatched back, and the fastening gave a loud snap, while when she opened it, Becky had disappeared and her mother was coming up the stairs to fetch the breakfast tray.
“And not touched a bit, my dear,” said the housekeeper, with a reproachful shake of the head. “Now you must, you know; you must, indeed. And do let me advise you, my dear. Mr Garstang is such a good man, and so indulgent, and it’s really naughty of you to be so foolish as to oppose his wishes.”
Kate turned upon her with a look that astounded the woman, who stood with parted lips, breathless, while a piece of bread was broken from the loaf on the tray, and a cup of tea poured out and placed aside.
“Take away that tray,” said Kate, imperiously; “and remember your place. Never presume to speak to me again like that.”
“No, ma’am—certainly not, ma’am,” said the woman, hastily. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, I am sure.”