'I—I wasn't asking questions,' said Ruth, more and more bewildered. 'I was only wondering why—what—what made you speak of the old cabinet in the passage? Did anyone—Naylor or anyone—say anything about it since you came, Miss Flossie?'
It was Flossie's turn to start.
'No,' she said, 'of course not. Nobody knows—oh, I wish I hadn't come here!' she suddenly broke off, 'and I wish you wouldn't speak of horrid things, Ruth. You weren't here in the winter; you couldn't know. And oh, I am so unhappy,' and throwing herself into Ruth's arms, the little girl burst into loud weeping.
CHAPTER IV.—A DOUBLE CONFESSION.
This was what was on little Flossie's mind, and on her grandmother's mind too, for that matter! It had happened several months ago, during the child's last visit to the Tower House.
One day Flossie had a cold. Not a very bad one, but enough to make her cross and uncomfortable. She was tired of reading, tired of her dolls, tired of everything, and it was a very woebegone-looking little girl that came to say good-night to grandmamma.