“There, dear, I believe you. I know there has been some mistake. Mrs. Dane has always been so anxious, one might say jealous for my welfare, and you see this would mean a great deal to me. You must pardon her until the truth comes out.”
“Oh, thank you a thousand times,” cried Lilian in broken tones, her eyes suffused with tears.
“You need not come down to the study this evening. How is your mother?”
“She is having a lovely sleep.”
“Do not say anything to her, and the girls will be going away before there is any real fright. I do not anticipate any danger with us. Be comforted. We shall hear all tomorrow.”
Lilian was almost happy. She had not lost her dear friend. Under any other circumstances Lilian would have given Mrs. Barrington an unreasoning adoration. She could not define it to herself. She liked Miss Arran, but this was beyond a mere kindly liking.
“She believes in me, she believes in me,” and the girl poured the fragrant balm on her wounded heart. But there seemed an awful undefined fear.