"It doesn't matter one whit. Children who come here aren't asked what they'd rather or rather not do, girl—they've got to do what I order."
The voice came out, not loud, but sharp and incisive, as though a knife were cutting something.
"Yus, sir—yus, sir."
"Connie"—the man's whole tone altered—"what will you give me if I let you go?" "Oh, sir——"
"I want you to give me something very big, I've taken great trouble to secure you. You're the sort of little girl I want; you would be very useful to me. You have come in here—it is true you haven't the least idea where this house is—but you've come in, and you've seen me, and you've discovered the name which these low people call me. Of course, you can understand that my real name is not Simeon Stylites—I have a very different name; and my home isn't here—I have a very different home. I would take you there, and treat you well, and afterwards perhaps send you to another home. You should never know want, and no one would be unkind to you. You would be as a daughter to me, and I am a lonely man."
"Oh, sir—sir!" said poor Connie, "I—I like you, sir—I'm not afeered—no, not much afeered—but if you 'ud only let the others come——"
"That I cannot do, girl. If you choose to belong to me you must give up the others."
"Ef I choose, sir—may I choose?"
"Yes—on a condition."
The man who called himself Simeon Stylites looked at the girl with a queer, hungry expression in his eyes.