There was something familiar in the voice, but in the darkness it was impossible to see the child's face; but Waveney's ear was never deaf to any childish appeal.
"Oh, you poor little thing," she said, kindly, "where do you live, and what is your name?"
"I am dad's little Betty," returned the child. She spoke in a tired, dreary little tone, "and I live across the water, past the church, with Uncle Theo and Aunt Joa." Then, in spite of the wet, Waveney stooped down and put her arm round her.
"Why, it is my little friend, Betty," she said, in a puzzled tone. "Why are you out alone this dreadful night? Oh, you poor darling, your frock and jacket are quite soaking. Come, come, we must go home as fast as possible. Give me your hand, dear, and come closer to me, so that my umbrella may shelter you."
"Is it my little lady?" asked Betty, in a perplexed voice. "She did speak to me so kindly once on the seat by the river; but I have never, never seen her again."
"But we shall see each other presently, when we get to the shops," returned Waveney, cheerily. "Betty, darling, tell me, why are you out by yourself?"
"I wanted to meet dad," returned Betty, with a little sob. "Aunt Joa was out, and I was so lonely all by myself, and Jemima was busy and told me to run away, and I was aching dreadful because it was Christmas Eve and dad did not come; and I thought"—and Bet sobbed afresh—"it would be such fun to see him pass me, and then I should call out loud, 'Here's Bet, dad, and I have come to meet you;' but there was no dad at all."
"Yes; and then you missed your way?"
"It was so dark," returned Bet, plaintively, "and there were trees, and I fell down and hurt myself, and then I got frightened. Are you frightened in the dark, too?"
"No; I am only frightened of doing wrong things, Betty dear. I am afraid you have been very naughty, and that poor Aunt Joa will be anxious. Can you walk faster, darling?" But Bet, tired and miserable, felt as though her poor little legs were weighted with lead. But for the umbrella Waveney would have carried her; it hurt her to hear the child sobbing to herself quietly in the darkness. It was a cruel night for any child to be out. Mr. Ingram's "savage mother" was in her fiercest mood, and seemed lashing herself up to fresh fury.