Mrs. Bantom noticed the spasm which passed over her features and said nothing, though she felt sorely--sorely grieved; but she removed Lotte’s cloak and bonnet, and forced her gently in a chair. “You are ill, child, and weak,” said the good woman, in a husky voice; “and don’t ought to be out--in--in---your condition.” Lotte tried to speak, but her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth. “Oh, my child--my child!” sobbed out Mrs. Bantom; “my poor motherless girl--what has happened? Tell me, child--all; I--I--won’t think harshly of you, nor speak unkindly to you; and I may help you--I may--with God’s help, I may.” Poor Lotte! This undeserved suspicion was very hard to hear. She looked back through her past life, and felt that she ought not to have been thus mistrusted; but she recollected that Mrs. Bantom knew little more, of her than that she was a young girl, living quite alone, and was thus open to temptation, or to be led astray. It was natural she should harbour such a thought as that which now evidently possessed her mind; and, however much it might rankle in heart, Lotte forgave her. As soon as she could speak, she said-- “Mrs. Bantom, you wrong me. This child is not mine. At present a mystery surrounds its birth, which I am not at liberty to explain. I thought, indeed, Mrs. Bantom, that I should not have had even to say so much to you; for, of all who know me, I should suspect you of being the last who could or would think so very ill of me.” Mrs. Bantom was now all the other way. She was only too delighted to catch at the very smallest assurance of Lotte’s innocence, and she over and over again expressed her readiness and desire to be of service to her, and, in truth, she afforded her assistance she could not have dispensed with, inasmuch as the good lady had recently presented her husband with a tenth blessing, and she was, therefore, able to take the child of Helen Grahame, and nourish it as her own. At the expiration of a fortnight, Lotte had sufficiently recovered, by care and self-attention, her strength, and, by the aid and help of Bantom, to instal herself once more in an apartment of her own--in a house, which, by the way, she satisfied herself was strongly built, and not likely to tumble down as soon as she took possession. She had, also, so far recovered her position, that the persons by whom (through the instrumentality of Flora Wilton) she had been formerly employed gave her again, upon application, so much work that she was enabled to employ an assistant, who could undertake the part of wet nurse as well, for Lotte would not part with the custody of Helen’s child under any advice, suggestion, or proposal. She had heard nothing of Helen. She was wholly at a loss to conjecture what had become of her, and she meditated one evening a visit to her house in the Park, with a hope that she might gain some tidings of her.