“Yes, my dear child, I am her father. Now you can take me to her at once.”
Hester covered her face.
“Oh, I cannot,” she said—“I cannot take you to Annie. Oh, sir, if you knew all, you would feel inclined to kill me. Don’t ask me about Annie—don’t, don’t.”
The stranger looked fairly nonplussed and not a little alarmed. Just at this moment Nan’s tiny fingers touched his hand.
“Me’ll lake ’oo to my Annie,” she said—“mine poor Annie. Annie’s vedy sick, but me’ll take ’oo.”
The tall, foreign-looking man lifted Nan into his arms.
“Sick, is she?” he answered. “Look here young lady,” he added, turning to Hester, “whatever you have got to say, I am sure you will try and say it; you will pity a father’s anxiety and master your own feelings. Where is my little girl?”
Hester hastily dried her tears.
“She is in a cottage near Oakley, sir.”
“Indeed! Oakley is some miles from here?”