After pondering over these things in my mind, I remembered that, after all, Mr. Lee was not connected with anything I knew, except in my own suspicions; and even then I was not base enough to impute a wrong motive, much less a wrong act to him. Why should I fear, then, to speak openly to Jessie? While chained to that pillow—as I must be for days to come—who could guard Mrs. Lee as well as her own daughter?
While these reflections passed through my brain, Jessie had been sitting motionless on the bed, afraid to move lest she might disturb the sleep into which she fancied me to have fallen. When I opened my eyes, she smiled down upon me.
"You have been a little troubled with dreams, I fear," she said, smoothing the hair back from my temples.
"No, Jessie; I have not been asleep, but thinking. Lie down here on my pillow; I want to tell you something."
She laid her beautiful face close to mine. In a weak voice, and at intervals, I told her everything, but never once mentioning her father, even remotely. Indeed, there was no occasion; for I am certain he knew as little as the innocent girl at my side of that wicked night-work, in which our invalid had sunk so rapidly.
I never saw horror and dismay exhibit itself so forcibly on any countenance as it appeared on that lovely face. It touched mine like marble.
"What can we do?—what must we do?" she said. "Why did you not tell papa at once?"
"I had no proof—he would not have believed me."
"But your word—who ever doubted that?"
"Her word would have prevailed against mine. Oh! Jessie, Jessie, she is a terrible woman!"