"He would not," said Beatrice; "and I am so near freedom, so near happiness. Oh, Lily, you have saved me once—save me again! My darling, keep my secret until I am married; then I swear to you I will tell Lionel every word honorably myself, and he will love you doubly. Could you do this for me?"
"It is not fair to him—he has a right to my confidence—it is not fair to myself, Beatrice."
"One of us must be sacrificed," returned her sister. "If myself, the sacrifice will last my life—will cause my death; if you, it will last, at the most, only three or four weeks. I will write to Lionel on my wedding day."
"Why trust him then and not now?" asked Lillian.
"Because, once married to Lord Airlie, I shall have no fear. Three or four weeks of happiness are not so much to give up for your own sister, Lily. I will say no more. I leave it for you to decide."
"Nay, do not do that," said Lillian, in great distress. "I could not clear myself at your expense"—a fact which Beatrice understood perfectly well.
"Then let the matter rest," said her sister; "some day I shall be able to thank you for all you have done for me—I can not now. On my wedding day I will tell Lionel Dacre that the girl he loves is the truest, the noblest, the dearest in the world."
"It is against my better judgment," returned Lillian.
"It is against my conscience, judgment, love, everything," added Beatrice; "but it will save me from cruel ruin and sorrow; and it shall not hurt you, Lily—it shall bring you good, not harm. Now, try to forget it. He will not know how to atone to you for this. Think of your happiness when he returns."
She drew the golden head down upon her shoulder, and with the charm that never failed, she talked and caressed her sister until she had overcome all objections.