"Come," she said, "come—be a good little girl. I shall try to be good to you."
I raised my hand and slapped her with extreme violence on the face.
"I hate you and all aunts, and I will never, never be good to you or to anyone!"
And then, somehow or other, I think I lost consciousness, for I cannot remember, even after this lapse of years, what immediately followed.
CHAPTER III
The next thing that I recall was also connected with that most terrible day. I was lying on a tiny bed, a sort of cot bed, in a very small room. There was a fire about the size of a pocket-handkerchief burning in the wee-est grate I have ever looked at. A woman was sitting by the fire with her back to me, the woman was knitting and moving her hands very rapidly. She wore a little cap on her head with long black lappets to it. I noticed how ugly the cap was and how ugly the woman herself looked as she sat and knitted by the fire. I suppose some little movement on my part caused her to turn round, for she came towards me and then I observed that it was Aunt Penelope.
"That's a good girl," she said; "you are better now, Heather."
A sort of instinct came over me at that moment. Instead of bursting into a storm of rage and tears, I stayed perfectly quiet. I looked her calmly in the face. I remembered every single thing that had happened. Father had gone, and I was left behind. I said, in a gentle tone:
"I am much better, Aunt Penelope."