"Of course. Every body knows the sorrow of his life. It has been public for the last twenty years. I heard all about it when I was a little girl from one of the servants. I could have advised you to good purpose, and saved you from sorrow, if you had only confided in me."
Such were Hilda's words, and Zillah felt new self-reproach to think that she had not confided in her friend.
"I hope another time you will not be so wanting in confidence," said Hilda, as she retired. "Do I not deserve it?"
"You do, you do, my dearest!" said Zillah, affectionately. "I have always said that you were like a sister--and after this I will tell you every thing."
Hilda kissed her, and departed.
Zillah waited impatiently to see Hilda again. She was anxious to know what effect these papers would produce on her. Would she scout them as absurd, or believe the statement? When Hilda appeared again to relieve her, all Zillah's curiosity was expressed in her face. But Hilda said nothing about the papers. She urged Zillah to go and sleep.
"I know what you want to say," said she, "but I will not talk about it now. Go off to bed, darling, and get some rest. You need it."
So Zillah had to go, and defer the conversation till some other time. She went away to bed, and slept but little. Before her hour she was up and hastened back.
"Why, Zillah," said Hilda, "you are half an hour before your time. You are wearing yourself out."
"Did you read the papers?" asked Zillah, as she kissed her.