Allison listened with changing colour and downcast eyes.
“I would go with you and the child. I would be glad to go—but—”
She rose and came a little nearer to the sofa on which Mrs Esselmont was lying.
“But I cannot go without telling you something first, and you may not wish me to go when you have heard.”
“Allison,” said Mrs Esselmont, “stand where I can see your face.”
She regarded her a moment and then she said gravely:
“I cannot believe that you have anything to say to me that will change my thoughts of you. You have won the respect and confidence of your master and mistress, who ought to know you well by this time. I am willing to trust you as they have done without knowing more of you than they have seen with their own eyes. I think you are a good woman, Allison Bain. You have not knowingly done what is wrong.”
“I did not wait to consider whether I was right or wrong, but I should have done what I did even if I had known it to be wrong. And I would not undo it now, even if you were to tell me I ought to do so. I could not. I would rather die,” said Allison, speaking low.
There was a long silence and Allison stood still with her eyes fixed on the floor.
“Sit down, Allison, where I can see you. Put off your shawl and your bonnet. You are too warm in this room.”