Sobs choked her words, and she seemed struggling for breath.
"Shall I call your mother?" Dorothy asked anxiously.
"No! no!" cried the sick girl. "I only want you. Dorothy Dale help me—you must help me or I shall die," and again Sarah broke into hysterical sobbing.
"What is it, Sarah dear?" pleaded Dorothy. "Tell me how I can help you," and she bent down closer to the weeping girl.
"Oh, I do not know. I have—Oh, Dorothy have you ever tried to injure another?"
"Why, no, dear, and I am sure you have not, either."
"Oh, but I have indeed! I can not bear the pain any longer. I must tell someone—you. You will know how to help me."
A very sad face looked up into Dorothy's. The brown eyes that had always been thought so proud and haughty were now "begging" for help, for pity, and for counsel.
"Tell me about it," said Dorothy, taking a trembling white hand in her own, which was scarcely more steady.
"Did—they—arrest Tavia?" asked Sarah, the words seeming to choke her in their utterance.