Lotte did, indeed.
This, then, was Helen’s brother, all unconscious that a thin partition alone divided him from his missing sister.
Lotte reflected for a moment. He had certainly seen his sister—had he recognised her? This she had to learn. Perhaps he had come with the purpose of endeavouring to discover and take her away. She determined he should not succeed, unless with Helen’s own consent. She felt that she had a difficult task to play, and one likely to be, in all respects, unpleasant. She was, however, equally conscious that she had undertaken, as a duty, the office of protecting and assisting Helen, with the object, if possible, of preserving her fair fame through the present terrible phase of her existence. She would not, therefore, permit the fear of personal insult or threatened dangers of other kinds to make her shrink from the responsibility she had so nobly self-imposed.
“Come, now,” said Malcolm, coaxingly, on observing her muse, “you will let me sit down for a few minutes—won’t you? I do want to set myself right with you.”
Lotte trembled and looked very pale, and then red. She would then and there have ended the interview if she had given way to her natural impulse, but she knew how earnestly Helen wished to learn what had followed her departure from home; and so, for her sake, she said—
“Sir, it may appear strange, after what has just passed, that I should seem to desire to prolong this interview, but I have a question or two to ask of you.”
“I shall be delighted to answer any questions you may put to me, if I can do so.”
She made a brave effort to seem collected, while he was admiring the graceful line from her head to her shoulder, as her face was averted, and then she turned to him and said—
“I have no desire to be improperly inquisitive, sir, nor to wound your feelings by the questions I may put to you; but I have a good motive, and no injury to you or your family can result from your answering me freely.”
“Very nice,” answered Malcolm—“pray go on.”