"She is not here—you shall see her—but you must not tell her she is ill," said the Frenchwoman, anxiously.
"Where is she?" repeated Mr. Mathieson, with a tone and look which made Madame Auguste afraid he would burst the doors if she did not open them. She opened the inner door without further preparation, and Mr. Mathieson walked in. By the fading light he saw Nettie lying on the floor at his feet. He was thoroughly himself now; sobered in more ways than one. He stood still when he had got there, and spoke not a word.
"Father," said Nettie, softly.
He stooped down over her. "What do you want, Nettie?"
"Can't I go home?"
"She must better not go home to-night," began Madame Auguste, earnestly, "it is so wet and cold! She will stay here with me to-night, Mr. Mat'ieson. You will tell her that it is best."
But Nettie said, "Please let me go home! mother will be so troubled." She spoke little, for she felt weak; but her father saw her very eager in the request. He stooped and put his strong arms under her, and lifted her up.
"Have you got anything to put over her?" he said, looking round the room. "I'll fetch it back."
Seeing that the matter was quite taken out of her hands, the kind little Frenchwoman was very quick in her arrangements. She put on Nettie's head a warm hood of her own; then round her and over her she wrapped a thick woollen counterpane, that to be sure would have let no snow through if the distance to be travelled had been twice as far. As she folded and arranged the thick stuff round Nettie's head, so as to shield even her face from the outer air, she said, half whispering,
"I would not tell nothing to mother about your lip; it is not much. I wish I could keep you. Now she is ready, Mr. Mat'ieson."