"You can, and you only!" said the girl.
"Will you tell me——" murmured Margaret.
"Yes, yes, I will!" she broke in; "but give me a minute, give me time, Mrs. Stanley. I will tell you my story. If it should fail to touch your heart—but it will not; I see by your face that you have a kind heart, that, though it might be led astray, would not do a fellow-creature, a helpless woman like yourself, a deadly wrong!"
Margaret stared at her, then turned pale. That the woman was mad she had now not a shadow of a doubt; and she, not unnaturally, glanced at the door.
The girl seemed to divine her suspicions and intentions, for she put out her hand pleadingly.
"No, I am not mad! You think so now! But you will see presently that I am not! It would be better for me—yes, and for you—if I were! Heaven help us both!"
She panted so and looked so faint that Margaret half rose. There was a carafe of water and a glass on a small table near her, and the girl caught at it and filled the glass, but in lifting it to her lips she spilt some, her hand shaking like an aspen leaf.
"I will try to be calm!" she said, pleadingly, as Margaret took the glass from her. "Mrs. Stanley, I am a poor and friendless girl. I was a governess in a gentleman's family—I am not a lady by birth, but I had struggled hard to qualify myself—and I did my duty, and was"—her voice broke—"happy! One day a gentleman came to visit the family. He was young and handsome; he was more than that, he was gentle and kind to the girl who felt herself so much alone in the world. He used to come to the schoolroom, and sit and talk at the children's tea, with them, and with me. I thought there was no harm in it. I did not guess that it was me he came to see until one day he told me—all suddenly—that he loved me!"
She panted and paused, and moistened her lips, keeping her dark eyes fixed on Margaret's face.