"How could you tell your father such a falsehood?" asked Madge in consternation.
"It was very easy. You see I had to do it. I never lied until recently. But oh, Madge, this is a terrible thing to come upon a girl!" "This" was somewhat indefinite, but Madge understood, and perhaps it will be clear to you what Dorothy meant. The girl continued: "She forgets all else. It will drive her to do anything, however wicked. For some strange cause, under its influence she does not feel the wrong she does. It acts upon a girl's sense of right and wrong as poppy juice acts on pain. Before it came upon me in—in such terrible force, I believe I should have become ill had I told my father a falsehood. I might have equivocated, or I might have evaded the truth in some slight degree, but I could not have told a lie. But now it is as easy as winking."
"And I fear, Dorothy," responded Madge, "that winking is very easy for you."
"Yes," answered candid Dorothy with a sigh.
"It must be a very great evil," said Madge, deploringly.
"One might well believe so," answered Dorothy, "but it is not. One instinctively knows it to be the essence of all that is good."
Madge asked, "Did Sir John tell you that—that he—"
"Yes," said Dorothy, covering her face even from the flickering rays of the rushlight.
"Did you tell him?"
"Yes," came in reply from under the coverlet.