"In there, Abraham."
"No, Lettie, you are sick; you must go back up-stairs."
"I will, when I have told her what I wish."
"Whom?"
"Mother."
What could Mr. Axtell have meant? He asked me to bring down the lamp; he took it in his own hand, and, supporting his sister, moved on. Was he going to take her in there. He did. I fled back to the library; trembling in affright, I sank into the first chair, and, covering my face with my hands, thought,—
"What terrible people these are! Why did I come here, where I was not wanted?"
"Poor child!"
I started up at the words. Mr. Axtell left the door open.
"You think it strange that I let my sister follow out such a sick fancy, I suppose."