"Good heavens!"
"Oh, you would have been worse in my place," returned Elizabeth. "It was so sudden; how could I tell what he had seen?"
"But you are yourself now. You will not give way again?"
"I must not," said Elizabeth drearily. "I must bear up now."
"Don't talk in that dreadful voice," shivered Elsie; "it sounds as if you were dying. I thought you had more courage. Don't be afraid of me; if he held a bowl of poison to my lips I wouldn't tell."
"Oh, Elsie, what would death be compared to the agony of discovery?"
"Do stop!" pleaded Elsie, pressing both rosy little palms to her ears, with a piteous, shrinking movement. "We mustn't talk. I won't talk, I tell you! I can put everything out of my head if you will only let me; but if you look and talk like that I shall give way. Why can't you try and forget it? I will. Be sure of that!"
Elizabeth rose from her seat; a wan, hopeless look came over her face.
"You are right; let us be silent. But, oh, if I only could forget—but I can't, Elsie—I can't! The thought is with me day and night. The dread—the fear!"
"Be still!" shrieked Elsie, breaking into a passion of which no one would have believed her capable, and stamping her foot upon the carpet. "You'll drive me mad. I shall go into spasms, and then who knows what may happen! I won't promise not to speak if you drive me crazy."