"So would I for that matter," replied the wife, "but she's in an awful state, poor child, and if I don't get her to bed, she'll be ill, and there will be more money out of pocket."
"Don't waste your strength sitting up with her, wife, she ain't worth it," Armitage called out, as his wife left the room.
A moment later, Mrs. Armitage crept softly upstairs. She entered Hetty's little chamber, which was also flooded with moonlight. It was a tiny room, with a sloping roof. Its little lattice window was wide open. Hetty was kneeling by the window looking out into the night. The moment she saw her aunt she rose to her feet, and ran to meet her.
"Lock the door, Aunt Fanny," she said, in a hoarse whisper.
"Oh, child, whatever has come to you?"
"Lock the door, Aunt Fanny, or let me do it."
"There, I'll humor you. Here's the key. I'll put it into my pocket. Why don't you have a light, Hetty?"
"I don't want it—the moon makes light enough for me. I have something to say to you. If I don't tell it, I shall go mad. You must share it with me, Aunt Fanny. You and I must both know it, and we must keep it to ourselves forever and ever and ever."
"Lor, child! what are you talking about?"
"I'll soon tell you. Let me kneel close to you. Hold my hand. I never felt so frightened in all my life before."