“Never again, darling; do not forget,” she murmured. “Does Meta know that if harm came to her, mamma would never look up again? She would cry always.”
Meta bustled out of her mamma’s arms, and stood before Miss Godolphin, earnest decision on her little face. “Aunt Janet, Meta won’t run away again.”
And when the child voluntarily made a promise, they knew that she would keep it. Margery whirled her away, telling her in high tones of a young lady of her own age who would do something that she was bade not to do: the consequence of which act was, that the next time she went out for a walk, she was run at by a bull with brass tips on his horns.
“Is the turret really dangerous?” inquired Maria.
“It is dangerous for a random child like Meta, who ventures into every hole and corner without reference to dust or danger,” was Miss Godolphin’s answer. “Would you like to go up, Maria?”
“Yes, I should. I have heard George speak of the view from it.”
“Mind, Maria, the stairs are narrow and winding,” interposed Bessy.
Nevertheless, they went up, passing the open loopholes which might be dangerous to Meta. The first thing that Maria’s eyes encountered when they had reached the top was a small bow of violet-coloured ribbon. She stooped to pick it up.
“It is a bow off Janet’s evening dress,” exclaimed Bessy. “Janet”—turning to her sister—“what can have brought it here?”
“I was up here last night,” was the answer of Janet Godolphin, spoken with composure.