“Go and get some rest now, Annie; I will watch by him,” she whispered.
“Why, Lilian, you look as if you had sat up all night, too! What is the matter with you?”
Lilian did not answer for a minute, but stood watching the restless movements of her sick brother; and, when she turned again to Annie, her proud gray eyes were full of tears.
“I may as well tell you now, for you are sure to learn it as soon as poor Harry comes back to his senses—if he ever does.”
She paused, and the other listened curiously for her confession, for a confession she felt sure it was that she had to hear.
She was right; for Lilian went on:
“Annie, you must not despise the poor fellow any more. He can act like a man if he can’t speak like a professor. If it had not been for him, I should have run away last night with—Colonel Richardson.”
“Oh, Lilian!”
“Don’t interrupt me,” went on the other hurriedly—“I may not feel inclined for confession again. I was to meet him—Colonel Richardson—at the lower gate. Well, Harry was there.”
“But how was that?”