“You don’t believe me! Very well; I cannot help it. The stuff was placed ready for me on the table, and I drank it.”
Mary sighed, but she kept her cool, soft hand pressed upon her sister’s brow.
“Why do you stop here?” said Leo, at last.
“Because I wish to talk to you—to try and be of some help.”
There was a silence which lasted some minutes, and then Leo turned her fierce dark eyes sharply on her sister.
“You have kept back his letters,” she said sternly.
“His letters!”
“Yes; he has written to me since I have been ill.”
Mary shook her head, and Leo gazed full in her eyes to satisfy herself that this was the truth.
“Has he sent to ask how I am?”