"You don't look well," said Margaret. "Why are you not dancing?"
"I haven't the heart to dance," said Hetty, turning suddenly away. Her eyes brimmed with sudden tears.
"Poor little girl! how could I be so thoughtless as to suppose she would care to dance," thought Margaret. "All her thoughts must be occupied with this terrible trial—Robert told me that she would be the principal witness. Poor little thing."
Margaret stretched out her hand impulsively and grasped Hetty's.
"I feel for you—I quite understand you," she said. Her voice trembled with deep and full sympathy. "I see that you are suffering a great deal, but you will be better afterward—you ought to go away afterward—you will want change."
"I would rather stay at home, please, Miss Douglas."
"Well, I won't worry you. Here is Mr. Awdrey. You have not danced once, Hetty. Would you not like to have a dance with the Squire, just for luck? Yes, I see you would. Robert, come here."
"What is it?" asked Awdrey. "Oh, is that you, Hetty? I have not forgotten our dance."
"Dance with her now, Robert," said Margaret. "There is a waltz just striking up—I will meet you presently on the terrace."
Margaret crossed the lawn, and Awdrey gave his arm to Hetty. She turned her large gaze upon him for a moment, her lips trembled, she placed her hand on his arm. "Yes, I will dance with him once," she said to herself. "It will please me—I am doing a great deal for him, and it will strengthen me—to have this pleasure. Oh, I hope, I do hope I'll be brave and silent, and not let the awful pain at my heart get the better of me. Please, God, help me to be true to Mr. Robert."