Whiting went away, and Mrs. Pike helped the sick girl to bed.
“There now, dearie, try to rest and forget your troubles,” she crooned over her, with real affection.
“I will,” Elsie whispered to her, “if you’ll help me out. Can’t you let me get away tonight?”
“Oh, no, I wish I might,—but I daren’t,—I daren’t!”
“Tell me this, then. Isn’t Mr. Webb in this house?”
“Hush, hush, now,—don’t say such things.”
“But isn’t he?”
“I can’t tell you,—I daren’t.”
“I am answered!” cried Elsie, triumphantly. “I know he is! Oh, what a refinement of cruelty. Are you a human being, that you countenance such fiendish cruelty? Please,—please, dear, good Mrs. Pike, let me get away! You needn’t do anything. Just let me steal your key when you’re not looking—”
“There now, there now, go to sleep, my girl. I can’t do a thing for you and you know it! If I could, I’d have done it long ago.”