“No, no, no,” cried Hester, in affright. “You must not tell. For heaven’s sake do not speak a word. Perhaps help may come.”
“I shall tell him,” said Bessy firmly.
“You do not know what you say,” wailed Hester, growing more pallid by the faint light of the lamp.
“I know a true honest man is being deceived, and that some scoundrel has frightened his weak young wife into silence, and—”
She said no more, for Hester rose horror-stricken and threw herself upon her knees, imploring her silence, and then, utterly overcome by her emotion, fainted dead away.
So long-continued was the swoon that Bessy was about to summon assistance when there was a faint sigh, and she revived.
“I was just going to send for Mr Meldon,” said Bessy, kindly, as she kissed her.
“That is not as you kissed me to-day, Bessy,” said Hester, sadly. “I would tell you gladly—all—all, if I only dared.”
She hid her face shudderingly, and then, clinging tightly to Bessy, they remained silent for what must have been quite a couple of hours, when Bessy, who had been dozing off to sleep, suddenly started up to find Hester awake and standing up in a listening attitude.
“What is it?” said Bessy, in alarm. “Hush! do you not hear?” whispered Hester, hoarsely. “He is maddened and has turned upon them. Oh Dutch, my husband! God—protect—”