“Nancy, come in and sit by my fire for a little.”
But she did not heed him. She ran past the second floor; no one called her here or detained her. There was a very cross old maid who lived on that floor, and Nancy had always hated her. She ran on and on. Presently she reached her mother’s room.
“It is not true,” she gasped. “It is that dreadful Mrs. Richmond trying to frighten me. It is not a bit true—not a bit.” And then she took the handle and tried to turn it and to open the door, but the door was locked.
“Mother, mother!” she shrieked. “Mother, it is me—it is Nan. Don’t let them keep me out. Get some one to open the door. Mother, mother!”
Footsteps sounded in the room, and an elderly woman, whom Nancy had never seen before, opened the door, came quickly out, and stood with her back to it.
“You must go away, my dear little girl,” she said. “I will bring you to see your mother presently. Go away now, dear; you cannot come in.”
“But I will. You shall not keep me out. You are hurting mother. You have no right to be in the room with her;” and Nancy pommelled at the woman’s hands and arms. But she was strong and masterful, and presently she picked up the exhausted child and carried her right downstairs.
“Oh! give her to me,” said Mrs. Richmond. “Poor little child! Nancy dear, I am so sorry for you! And I promise, darling, to be a mother to you.”
“Don’t!” said Nan. “I don’t want you as a mother—no, I don’t want you.”
“Never mind, I will be a friend to you—an aunt—anything you like. I have promised your own dear mother; and she is quite well, and it would be selfish to wish her back.”