Westwood's family. I can't bear to speak to her--I can't bear her in my
sight. It makes me ill to see her."

She covered her eyes with her hand, so that she might not see the ragged
miserable-looking little creature any longer.

"It would make matters no better if the child were to die of neglect and
starvation at your gates, would it?" said Hubert bitterly. "She must be
got out of Beechfield at any rate; you will never be able to bear seeing
her about the roads--even amongst the workhouse children."

"No, no, indeed! And Enid--Enid might meet her again!"

"Go back to the house, aunt Leo," said the young man tenderly, "and
leave her to me. It is too great a strain upon your endurance, I see. I
will take the child to the Rectory; Mrs. Rumbold will know of some home
where she will be taken in--the farther away from Beechfield the
better."

Miss Vane was unusually agitated. Her face was pale, and her lips moved
nervously; she carefully averted her eyes from the little girl whom she
had undertaken to question. Evidently she was on the verge of a
breakdown.

"I never was so foolish in my life as I have been to-day. My nerves are
all unstrung," she said, turning her back on little Jenny Westwood. "I
think I'll take your advice, Hubert. Ask Mr. and Mrs. Rumbold, from me,
to see after the child. If they want money, I don't mind supplying it.
But do make them understand that the child must be kept out of
Beechfield." And with these words she walked briskly down the avenue,
without looking back. As she had said, the very sight of Andrew
Westwood's daughter made her ill.

Hubert turned again towards the girl, wondering whether she had
overheard the conversation, which had been carried on in low tones, and,
if she had overheard it, how much she had understood. He could not find
out from her face. It was not a face that lacked intelligence, but it
was at present sullen and forbidding in expression. The black hair that
hung over her eyes hid her forehead, and gave her a rough, almost a
savage look.

"You do not want to go back to the workhouse, do you?" Hubert said,
keenly regarding the stubborn face.

"No--I won't go back."

"Why not?"

A hot burning blush sprang to the child's cheeks.

"They call me names," she said in a low voice.

"They? Who? And what names?"

"The other girls, and the mistress too, and the women. They said that my
father's wicked, and that I am wicked too. They say that he is to be
hanged."