But before she had finished speaking she saw that the suggestion did not meet the case at all.
"Uncle Horace! Oh, no!" ejaculated Lena, "that would be worse than all! Oh, if I could only tell Russell!"
"Why do you not?" asked Bessie.
"It would make him ill again; it might kill him," answered Lena, more excitedly than ever. "Tell me what it is right to do by myself, Bessie."
"How can I, dear, when I do not know what it is?" said the troubled and sympathizing Bessie.
Lena looked into the clear, tender eyes before her own, and her resolution was taken; although, knowing, as she did, Bessie's almost morbid conscientiousness and her horror of anything small, mean or tricky, she knew that she would be terribly shocked when she heard the source of the trouble; but she must tell some one, must have a little advice.
"I want to tell you, Bessie," she said, falteringly, "but you will not tell any one, will you? Not even Maggie?"
"No. Maggie is very good about that, and not at all curious," said Bessie. "I couldn't keep a secret of my own from her; but some one else's she would not mind. But mamma—could I not tell mamma?"
"Oh, no," said Lena, "no! Must you tell your mother everything—things that are not secrets of your own?"
Bessie stood thoughtful for a moment.