'Leave her to me, if you please,' said Sister Constance gently; 'I
think she will tell me what is right to be told.'
'As you please, Lady Somerville,' said Mr. Rugg, who, since he had
discovered her title, was always barbarously misusing it; 'but the
thing must be told. It is doing Mrs. Underwood a serious injury to
let childish naughtiness conceal the truth.'
Constance put her arm round the little girl, a tiny weight for
thirteen years old, and took her into the room where she had last
seen her father. She was sobbing violently, not without passion, and
the more distressingly because she carefully stifled every sound, and
the poor little frame seemed as if it would be rent to pieces.
'Cherry, dear child, don't,' said Constance, sitting down and
gathering her into her arms; 'do try and calm yourself, and think--'
'He--he--I won't tell him!' sobbed the child. 'He's a bad man--he
tells stories. He said he would not hurt me--when he knew he should
most terribly. Papa said it was very wrong. Papa was quite angry--he
called it deceiving, he did! I won't tell him!'
'My dear child, is there anything to tell? Don't think about him,
think about what is good for your mother.
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