“Yes, if you wish it,” she said. “I am sleepy. Don’t tell them at home, dear.”
Salis started, and his face grew convulsed, as he exchanged glances with Mary, who read his wish, wrote a few lines in pencil, and softly rang the bell.
“Take that at once,” she whispered to Dally Watlock, who entered, round-eyed and staring.
“To Mr Tom Candlish, miss?”
“No, no, girl; to Mr North.”
Mary drew her breath hard as the door closed behind the girl, for she read in her words a tale of deceit and also who had been the messenger, perhaps, in many a love missive sent on either side.
She tried to rise, feeling that this was a time of urgent need; but her eyes became suffused with tears as she sank back helpless in her seat.
“Take my arm, Leo, dear,” said Salis. “You would be better if you went up to your room and lay down.”
“Yes, dear; if you wish it,” she said softly; and she started up, but caught at her brother, and clung to him as if she had been seized by a sudden vertigo, and then stared wildly round.
Salis gave Mary a nod, and then, drawing Leo’s arm through his, led her up to the door of her room, which she entered while he ran quickly down.