“Dear heart!” she cried, with wondrous surprise; “what a blessed little babby!”
Then Mrs. Bantom turned her eyes upon Lotte, inquiringly, and on seeing her thin, alabaster face, she gave a gulp, and uttered an ejaculation.
The instant the worthy, humble creature gave vent thus to the suspicion that flashed through her mind, Lotte understood her position. It was impossible to keep down a scarlet flush that covered her neck and face, or to prevent it dying away, and leaving her face of a deathly hue, or to help feeling as if she should sink down upon the earth and die, almost happy in the notion that her spirit should be so released from this world of care and pain.
Mrs. Bantom noticed the spasm which passed over her features and said nothing, though she felt sorely—sorely grieved; but she removed Lotte’s cloak and bonnet, and forced her gently in a chair.
“You are ill, child, and weak,” said the good woman, in a husky voice; “and don’t ought to be out—in—in—-your condition.”
Lotte tried to speak, but her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth.
“Oh, my child—my child!” sobbed out Mrs. Bantom; “my poor motherless girl—what has happened? Tell me, child—all; I—I—won’t think harshly of you, nor speak unkindly to you; and I may help you—I may—with God’s help, I may.”
Poor Lotte! This undeserved suspicion was very hard to hear. She looked back through her past life, and felt that she ought not to have been thus mistrusted; but she recollected that Mrs. Bantom knew little more, of her than that she was a young girl, living quite alone, and was thus open to temptation, or to be led astray. It was natural she should harbour such a thought as that which now evidently possessed her mind; and, however much it might rankle in heart, Lotte forgave her.
As soon as she could speak, she said—
“Mrs. Bantom, you wrong me. This child is not mine. At present a mystery surrounds its birth, which I am not at liberty to explain. I thought, indeed, Mrs. Bantom, that I should not have had even to say so much to you; for, of all who know me, I should suspect you of being the last who could or would think so very ill of me.”