"Yes," said Hilda, seriously.
"And what do you think?" asked Zillah, with a frightened face.
"My darling," said Hilda, "how excited you are! How you tremble! Poor dear! What is the matter?"
"That awful confession!" gasped Zillah, in a scarce audible voice.
"My darling," said Hilda, passing her arm about Zillah's neck, "why should you take it so to heart? You have no concern with it. You are Guy Molyneux's wife. This paper has now no concern with you."
Zillah started back as though she had been stung. Nothing could have been more abhorrent to her, in such a connection, than the suggestion of her marriage.
"You believe it, then?"
"Believe it! Why, don't you?" said Hilda, in wondering tones. "You _do_, or you would not feel so. Why did you ask the Earl? Why did you give it to me? Is it not your father's own confession?"
Zillah shuddered, and burst into tears.
"No," she cried at last; "I do not believe it. I will never believe it. Why did I ask the Earl! Because I believed that he would dispel my anxiety. That is all."