"She has come home."
He saw the colour flit on Matilda's cheek; her mouth had quitted its lines of peace and gaiety and become firm; she said nothing.
"You are not glad to hear of it, Matilda."
"No, sir."
"It is no pleasure to tell you of it; but it is necessary. How do you feel towards her now?"
"Mr. Richmond," said the child, slowly, "I think I don't hate her any more."
"But you would like to be excused from living with her?"
Matilda did not reply; no answer was necessary to so self-evident a proposition; the child seemed to be gathering her forces, somehow, mentally.
"Take courage," said her friend. "I have concluded that you never shall live with her any more. That is at an end."
He saw the lightning flash of delight come into Matilda's eyes; a streak of red showed itself on her cheek; but she was breathless, waiting for more words to make her understand how this could be, or that she had heard right.