"I'll never find Lovedy now; I've broken my promise--I've broken my
promise," she said in conclusion.
"Well," answered Jane, drawing a long breath when the story was
over, "that is interesting, and the queerest bit of a tale I ever set
my two ears to listen to. Oh, yes! I believes you, child. You ain't
one as'll tell lies--and that I'm gospel sure on. And so yer poor
stepmother wanted you not to let Lydia Purcell clap her eyes on that
purse. Ah, poor soul! she knew her own sister well."
"Yes, Jane, she said I'd never see it again if Aunt Lydia found it
out. Oh, Jane! I did think I had hid the purse so very, very secure."
"And so you had, deary--real beautiful, and if it hadn't been for
that horrid inventory, it might ha' lain there till doomsday. But now
do tell me, Cecile--for I am curious, and that I won't go for to deny
--suppose as you hadn't lost that purse, however 'ud a little mite
like you go for to look for Lovedy?"
"Oh, Jane! the purse is lost, and I can never do it now--never until
I can earn it all back again my own self. But I'd have gone to France
--me and Maurice and Toby had it all arranged quite beautiful--we
were going to France this very winter. Lovedy is quite safe to be in
France; and you know, Jane, me and Maurice ain't little English
children. We are just a little French boy and girl; so we'd be sure
to get on well in our own country, Jane."
"Yes, yes, for sure," said Jane, knowing nothing whatever of France,
but much impressed with Cecile's manner; "there ain't no doubt as
you're a very clever little girl, Cecile, and not the least bit
English.
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