"What are you going to confess to me, Rosie?" asked Hester gravely. "Surely you did not take the lady's ring?"
"I done take ring? Oh, no, neva touchin' ring," cried the child, looking up with candid eyes.
"But, Rosie, you said you were going to confess to me," faltered Hester.
"Oh, yes, I 'fess Missus cause Missus believe me. I done 'fess, and I done 'fess butler, only he prick my hands werry sore. Ramaswamy neva believe one word."
Hester was now entirely satisfied as to the child's innocence, and felt touched by the quick confidence with which she dried her tears and even smiled. She decided to call the ayah and relieve her poor heart by assuring her of the innocence of her granddaughter. She found her in the next room making everything, as was her wont, exquisitely tidy. She listened attentively to her mistress, but the strain did not leave her face.
"Missus speakin' true," she said, nodding her head in acquiescence. "My little girl neva done touch the lady's jewel. I know that from first. But what that matter when English lady done say she did. How can pore native woman stand up against one white lady? 'Tis Rosie's bad fate, Missus. 'Tis the will of the gods—the gods make angry at my one pore chil'? What I do?"
The ayah's face wore a bitter look, though she held her head high and went about her duties in silence.
A spirit of dreariness took possession of Hester. All seemed dark and mysterious concerning the matter. Her heart ached for the old woman, though she felt unable to make any reply to her bitter words. But though she could not bind broken hearts, she could at least dress wounded fingers, she decided, and getting out lint and bandages she applied herself to that, and was rewarded by a patient smile from the little sufferer.