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And so, that afternoon after they had lunch, she went to Catherine's room. She knocked, but there was no response.

"Can I come in?" she called.

"I wish to be alone," the little girl's voice came from the other side of the door.

"I shall only be a moment," she promised. "I am concerned for you."

"You should not be," she said sharply. "You are not my mother."

She was rather taken aback by Catherine's words. They all understood who Dorothy was to her, and nobody had suggested that change. Puzzled, she took a breath to steady herself.

"I know," she replied. "But I am your friend. I am not here to demand anything from you, only that I see you for a moment."

There was silence, and then the door creaked open.

"Come in," Catherine said quietly.

Dorothy entered, and when she looked upon the little girl all she could do was gasp. She was a sickly child, but she looked worse than ever. Her skin was almost gray, and her eyes were sunken. She had to fight herself not to immediately send for the doctor.

"My word," she whispered. "Catherine, what has happened? Do I need to send for your uncle?"

"No!" she yelped. "Please, I cannot face him right now."

As if instinctively, she ran to the corner and crouched to the floor, burying her face in her knees.

"Catherine, nobody is angry with you if that is what you are worried about. We all want to help you."

"I do not deserve help. I am a horrid little girl and I should be sent away."

She began to cry, and Dorothy was frozen in alarm. This was not the sweet-natured child that she had met. Something had to have happened, and she needed to know what, but Catherine was hysterical. Not knowing what else to do, Dorothy reached out and took the girl in an embrace. The little girl gasped, the crying stopped, and then she clung on hard.

"You are not horrid," she promised. "We all care for you so much, and we do not want you to feel this way. Please let us help you."

"I have done something bad," she whispered. "Very, very bad."

"You do not have that in you."

"I do."

Catherine pulled away, and Dorothy gently cleaned her face with a handkerchief.

"If it truly is so terrible, then you ought to tell me."

"You will all learn of it soon enough."

As if on cue, they suddenly heard an almighty battle downstairs. Dorothy had turned to look out at it, and when she turned back to Catherine her eyes were wide and her mouth was open.

"Catherine," Dorothy asked in a startled tone, "what have you done, exactly?"

"I thought it was a good idea," she whimpered. "It was only when it was done that I realized how wrong I was."

Knowing that she would not receive an explanation, Dorothy had to think quickly. She took Catherine's hand and lifted her to her feet.

"I know you are frightened," she explained, "but we can fix this, whatever you have done. To do that, however, you must admit what you did."

"Please do not take me to my uncle," she pleaded. "I cannot look at him, not after I– oh, Dorothy, please."

"Your uncle will not be angry with you. Even if he is, he will forgive you. He adores you, Catherine. Come, we will have this settled before you know it."