"Mr. Carleton," said the old lady,--"I am a dying woman--and this child is the dearest thing in the world to me after my own,--and hardly after him.--Will you pardon me--will you bear with me, if that I may die in peace, I say, sir, what else it would not become me to say?--and it is for her sake."
"Speak to me freely as you would to her," he said with a look that gave her full permission.
Fleda had drawn close and hid her face in her aunt's neck. Aunt Miriam's hand moved fondly over her cheek and brow for a minute or two in silence; her eye resting there too.
"Mr. Carleton, this child is to belong to you--how will you guide her?"
"By the gentlest paths," he said with a smile.
A whispered remonstrance from Fleda to her aunt had no effect.
"Will her best interests be safe in your hands?"
"How shall I resolve you of that, Mrs. Plumfield?" he said gravely.
"Will you help her to mind her mother's prayer and keep herself unspotted from the world?"
"As I trust she will help me."