“The truth. I said you were ill.”
“If they ask you again, you will tell them again that I was really ill?”
“Of course I shall; you were very ill. You were not putting it on, were you, Annie?”
“Of course not,” answered Annie. “Now, do go to bed, and don’t ask any more questions. I was ill, and I am ill still, but my illness is not of the body. All the same, I have got such a headache that I can scarcely stand up.”
“Well, I am glad you are not going to do any more work to-night.”
“Work!” said Annie. “The mere thought makes me feel sick. Good-night, Leslie. Don’t let us talk any more until the morning.”
Annie lay down on her bed, taking the clothes and wrapping them tightly round her.
“Don’t speak to me again,” she muttered; and Leslie, kneeling by her little bed, tried to pray. But all her thoughts were in a whirl. She hated herself for not telling Annie that she had overheard her conversation. Finally, she made up her mind to do so in the morning.
Being dead tired, she soon dropped asleep; but she was awakened just when the dawn was breaking by a noise in the room. She opened her eyes. To her astonishment, she saw that Annie Colchester was up; that she was standing by her desk turning over her (Leslie’s) papers just as if she were looking for something.
“What is it, Annie?” called Leslie, raising herself on her elbow, and staring in astonishment at her room-fellow.