“Here for the present. I want a secretary to put my papers in order, write some of my letters, and do a thousand things to help a busy man. My old housekeeper likes you, and will let you take a duster now and then if you don’t find enough other work to do. When can you come?”
Christie answered with a long breath of satisfaction: “To-morrow, if you like.”
“I do: can you be spared so soon?”
“Oh, yes! they don’t want me now at all, or I would not leave them. Kitty can take my place: she needs protection more than I; and there is not room for two.” She checked herself there, conscious that a tone of bitterness had crept into her voice. Then quite steadily she added:
“Will you be kind enough to write, and ask Mrs. Sterling if she can spare me? I shall find it hard to tell her myself, for I fear she may think me ungrateful after all her kindness.”
“No: she is used to parting with those whom she has helped, and is always glad to set them on their way toward better things. I will write to-morrow, and you can come whenever you will, sure of a welcome, my child.”
Something in the tone of those last words, and the pressure of the strong, kind hand, touched Christie’s sore heart, and made it impossible for her to hide the truth entirely.
She only said: “Thank you, sir. I shall be very glad to come;” but her eyes were full, and she held his hand an instant, as if she clung to it sure of succor and support.
Then she went home so pale and quiet; so helpful, patient, and affectionate, that Mrs. Sterling watched her anxiously; David looked amazed; and, even self-absorbed Kitty saw the change, and was touched by it.
On the morrow, Mr. Power’s note came, and Christie fled upstairs while it was read and discussed.