After the news of his state, Tom Candlish’s name was not mentioned at the Rectory. She dared not ask or show by word or look the anxiety she felt, and yet there were times when she would have given years of her life for a few words of tidings.
Unable to bear the suspense any longer, and after thinking of a dozen schemes, she at last decided upon one, which was the most unlucky she could have devised.
It was the nearest to her hand, and, in quite a gambling spirit, she snatched at it recklessly.
She was in her room, reading, when Dally entered.
“Is my brother in?” she said quietly. “Yes, miss; along with Miss Mary, talking.”
“Are you very busy, Dally?”
“Yes, miss, ’most worked to death,” said the girl tartly.
“But a walk would do you good, Dally. Would you take a note for me?”
“Take a note, miss?” said Dally with her eyes twinkling; “oh, of course, miss! I’ll go and ask Miss Mary to let me go!”
“No, no—stop, you foolish girl!” said Leo, with a half laugh. “There, I’ll be plain with you. I don’t want my sister to know. You would take a letter for me to Mrs Berens, Dally?”