Annella closed her eyes, and lay still as death, but whether she slept or not, Tabitha had no means of ascertaining in that darkened chamber.
Hour after hour passed, and Tabitha was on the point of dropping asleep herself, when the striking of the little golden-toned ormolu clock on the mantelpiece aroused her.
“It is five o’clock, Miss Annella,” she said, softly, bending over the quiet girl.
“Then go and bring me my tea, and say that I am better, but shall not come down this afternoon, and that I do not wish to be disturbed this evening. And listen, Tabitha, say not a word of what passed between us before I composed myself to sleep,” murmured Annella, without changing her position or even opening her eyes. She seemed as one hoarding every atom of her strength for one final effort.
“No, Miss; I shan’t say nothing at all of what has passed between us, at least not yet,” answered Tabitha, leaving the room to obey.
In due time she reappeared with the tray, upon which was neatly arranged Annella’s little chamber tea-service.
The girl arose, bathed her face and head, arranged her hair and dress, and then drank her tea. After which, she called Tabitha to her side, and said:
“I am sure you love Miss Leaton—”
“Yes, that I do! I would lay down my life for her,” said Tabitha, beginning to sob.
“In that case you would not betray anyone who tried to serve her, to comfort her, or even to rescue her?”