must be
more careful than other girls."

Molly's cheeks, just now bright from the battle with the autumn wind,
became as white as marble. There was no concealment possible; both women
saw that the child realised the full import of the words, and that she
knew they could read what was written on her face. There could be no
possibility of keeping up appearances after such a moment. But Miss
Carew moved forward, and flung her arms round Molly with a gesture of
simple but complete womanliness. "You must have a hot bath at once," she
cried, "or you will catch your death of cold."

"Perhaps it would be better if I did," cried Molly in a voice fearful to
her hearers in its stony hardness and hopelessness. "What does it
matter?"

Miss Carew would have been less unhappy if the child had burst into any
reproaches, however angry or unseemly; she wanted to hear her say that
something was a lie, that some one was a liar, but what was so awful to
the ordinary little woman was to realise that Molly believed what had
been said, or rather the awful implication of what had been said. The
real horror was that Molly should come to such knowledge in such a way.

The girl made no effort to shake her off, and not the least response to
her caress. With perfect dignity she went quietly up-stairs. With
perfect dignity she let the governess and the housemaid do to her
whatever they liked. They bathed Molly, rubbed her with lotions,
poulticed her with mustard, gave her a hot drink, and all the time Miss
Carew's heart ached at the impossibility of helping her in the very
least.

"Can I leave the door open between our rooms, in case you want anything
in the night?" she faltered.

"Oh, yes; certainly."

"May I kiss you?"

"Yes, of course."

CHAPTER VI

MOLLY COMES OF AGE

For some time after that terrible night Molly never spoke to Mrs.
Carteret unless it were absolutely necessary. It may be difficult to
believe that no explanation was sought or given and after a time things
seemed to be much as before. The silence of a brooding nature is a
terrible thing; and it is more common in narrow, dull lives than in any
other. Uneducated men and women in villages, or servants cramped
together in one house, I have known to brood over some injury in an
awful silence for twenty or thirty years. If Molly's future life had
been in Mrs. Carteret's hands, the sense of wrong would have burrowed
deeper and been even better hidden, but Molly, ai