"No"—Elizabeth spoke slowly and thoughtfully—"I won't break my word. I did break a promise I made you once, and repented it, ever since; but this time I shall keep it. If you confess, it must be for your own sake, not for mine. No one I care about believes me guilty. Let it go."
Amanda drew a sigh of relief. Her head fell back, her attitude of tension relaxed insensibly.
"You are very generous," she said, faintly. "I—I won't be ungrateful." And then a silence fell upon them. Amanda's eyes closed, she seemed exhausted. Elizabeth, seeing this, got up.
"I had better go. You're very tired." No answer came. But as she reached the door Amanda's eyes unclosed, she turned her face towards her.
"Good-bye," she said. "I'm sorry you've—lost your looks. Perhaps you'll—get them back." The words came out with a great effort. And then she turned her face away and said no more.
The Sister was waiting outside in the corridor. She accompanied Elizabeth to the door of the hospital.
As they parted she laid her hand for an instant on the girl's arm, her grave, clear eyes scanned the white, exhausted face.
"My dear," she said, "did your cousin tell you—what she sent for you to say?"
Elizabeth met her gaze firmly, with eyes as clear as her own. "It is a secret," she said, quietly. "I promised—not to repeat it."
A cloud passed over the Sister's face; her hand rested for a moment tenderly on Elizabeth's arm. "Poor child!" was all she said. It would have been hard to tell to whom she referred—Elizabeth or Amanda.