Jinnie nodded, trying to swallow a lump in her throat.
“And—and there’s a—a—blind child too—who could be hurt easily.”
Jinnie’s living world reeled before her eyes. During this speech she had lost every vestige of color. She sprang toward him and her fingers went blue-white from the force of her grip on his arm.
“Oh, you couldn’t, you wouldn’t hurt poor little Bobbie?” she cried hysterically. “He can’t see and he’s sick, terribly ill all the time. I’ll do anything you say—anything to help ’em.”
Then she fell to the floor, groveling at his feet.
“Get up! You needn’t cry; things’ll be easy enough for you if you do exactly as I tell you. The first order I give you is to stay here quietly until I come again.”
As he spoke, he lifted her up, and she stood swaying pitiably.
“Can’t I let Peg know where I am?” she entreated when she could speak. “Please! Please!”
“I should think not,” scoffed Morse. Then, after a moment’s consideration, he went on, “You might write her a note, if you say what I dictate. I’ll have it mailed from another town. I don’t want any one to know you’re still in Bellaire.”
“Could I send her a little money, too?” she asked.