"When did she lock you up last?" continued Bob, who had taken the investigation into his own hands, when Kate showed a willingness to answer. "About a week ago." "A week ago? I thought you said she kept you in your room for a week?" "So she does, and she only let me out this forenoon." "What did she lock you up for last time?" "For taking such long stitches hemming her handkerchief." "For taking long stitches!" exclaimed Bob, with something like horror in his tones. "Did she shut you up for a week for this?" "She did; and she fastened the blinds of the chamber so that I could not open them." "Did you refuse to take short stitches?" I asked, fearing there might be some aggravating circumstances. "No, I did not, indeed. I hemmed the handkerchief just as I always did, and I did not think the stitches were too coarse," she replied, wiping away her tears with a wet handkerchief. "It was done just like this one," she added, exhibiting it as a specimen of her work. Neither Bob nor myself was sufficiently skilled in sewing craft to judge of the quality of the work, but the stitches did not seem to be very long. We compared the hemming with that on our own handkerchiefs, but were not able to detect much difference. "When did Mrs. Loraine shut you up the time before that," I asked, handing her the handkerchief. "I had not been out three days." "What was it for that time?" "Because I pulled up some flowers in the garden which were just coming up. I thought they were weeds; and I'm sure I didn't mean any harm." "How long did she shut you up for this?" asked Bob. "Eight days." "What do you do in your chamber while shut up there?" I inquired. "Nothing." "Don't you have books?" "O, no! If I did, I shouldn't mind it so much." "Don't you sew?" "No; I'm not allowed to do anything," she answered, with a convulsive sob. I could hardly keep from crying myself, and I was almost choked by my efforts to keep down my emotions. I had kept the boat away from the pier, in order to afford time for this inquiry, and the Splash was now off the Point. I put her about, and ran before the wind towards the pier again. "Are you willing to tell us what the trouble was to-day, before you jumped into the water?" said Bob, tenderly. "She told me to water the flowers in her garden, and I was doing it. She kept telling me how to do it, and what to water, and I tried as hard as I could to please her; but I was so frightened lest I should do something wrong, that I trod on a peony, and broke it down. She was very angry, and immediately told me to go back to my room, and stay there another week. O, if you only knew how I dreaded that room! If you only knew how gloomy and sad I am when shut up there! If you could only feel how long and heavy the hours are there, you would pity me." "I do pity you," said Bob, warmly.