“Yes.  Mamma liked him—­and grandmamma liked him (which is wonderful)—­and I gave him a kiss.  Promise me not to tell!  My nice Captain is going to be my new papa.”

Was there any possible connection between what Kitty had just said, and what the poor child had been deluded into believing when she spoke of her father?  Even Susan seemed to be in the secret of this strange second marriage!  She interfered with a sharp reproof.  “You mustn’t talk in that way, Miss Kitty.  Please put her off your lap, Miss Westerfield; we have been here too long already.”

Kitty proposed a compromise; “I’ll go,” she said, “if Syd will come with me.”

“I’m sorry, my darling, to disappoint you.”

Kitty refused to believe it.  “You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried,” she said boldly.

“Indeed, indeed, I must go away.  Oh, Kitty, try to bear it as I do!”

Entreaties were useless; the child refused to hear of another parting.  “I want to make you and mamma friends again.  Don’t break my heart, Sydney!  Come home with me, and teach me, and play with me, and love me!”

She pulled desperately at Sydney’s dress; she called to Susan to help her.  With tears in her eyes, the girl did her best to help them both.  “Miss Westerfield will wait here,” she said to Kitty, “while you speak to your mamma.—­Say Yes!” she whispered to Sydney; “it’s our only chance.”

The child instantly exacted a promise.  In the earnestness of her love she even dictated the words.  “Say it after me, as I used to say my lessons,” she insisted.  “Say, ’Kitty, I promise to wait for you.’”

Who that loved her could have refused to say it!  In one form or another, the horrid necessity for deceit had followed, and was still following, that first, worst act of falsehood—­the elopement from Mount Morven.

Kitty was now as eager to go as she had been hitherto resolute to remain.  She called for Susan to follow her, and ran to the hotel.

“My mistress won’t let her come back—­you can leave the garden that way.”  The maid pointed along the path to the left and hurried after the child.

They were gone—­and Sydney was alone again.

At the parting with Kitty, the measure of her endurance was full.  Not even the farewell at Mount Morven had tried her by an ordeal so cruel as this.  No kind woman was willing to receive her and employ her, now.  The one creature left who loved her was the faithful little friend whom she must never see again.  “I am still innocent to that child,” she thought—­“and I am parted from her forever!”

She rose to leave the garden.