“Oh! if you would only promise to take me,” said poor Nora, suddenly rising to her feet, twining her arms round her aunt's neck, and looking full into her face. “Oh! don't say you will take me to my father if there is danger; say you'll take me in any case. It would break my heart to stay away. I cannot—cannot stay away from him.”
“Now, you are talking in an unreasonable way, Nora—in a way I cannot for a moment listen to. Your uncle wishes you to stay where you are. He would not wish that if there was the least occasion for you to go to Ireland.”
“Then you will not take me tomorrow?”
“Not unless your father is worse. Come, I must help you to get your things off.”
Nora felt herself powerless in Mrs. Hartrick's hands. The good lady quickly began to divest her of her clothes, soon her night-dress was popped on, and she was lying down in bed.
“What is that black bag doing here?” said Mrs. Hartrick, glancing at the bag as she spoke.
“I was packing my things together to go to father.”
“Well, dear, we must only trust there will be no necessity. Now, goodnight. Sleep well, my little girl. Believe me, I am not so unsympathetic as I look.”
Nora made no reply. She covered her face with the bedclothes; a sob came from her throat. Mrs. Hartrick hesitated for a moment whether she would say anything further; but then, hoping that the tired-out girl would sleep, she went gently from the room. In the passage she thought for a moment.
“Why did Nora pack that little bag?” she said to herself. “Can it be possible—but no, the child would not do it. Besides, she has no money.”