“He does not look bruised,” she said; “at least not much—a little perhaps. His fur is wet, but I do not suppose Kitty will know what has killed him. Have you courage to put him back into his cage?”
“Why should I do that?” asked Nan.
“Well, have you courage? I could not touch the horror.”
The laughing, curious eyes were fixed on Nan’s face. She did not know why—she often wondered afterwards what had ailed her during that miserable day—but the next instant she had slipped the rat back into his cage.
“That is all right,” said the girl. “You need not tell; I will not. Come, let us lock the door. Have you done any further mischief in the room? I see not. Come downstairs to the schoolroom and amuse me.”
Nan followed the girl as though she were mesmerised, Jack trotting behind her heels. They went into the schoolroom; the girl turned full round and looked at Nan.
“Now, who are you?” she said.
“I am Nan Esterleigh.”
“Oh! And has my aunt adopted you?”
“Yes.”