"What ails you, Minn? why don't you answer me?" said Della, looking up earnestly at Minny, in the glass.
"I never told you a lie in the world, Miss Della; and I don't answer you because I can't tell the truth now."
"You must tell me if you know, Minny; and you must tell the truth, too."
"Oh, Miss Della," said the girl, sinking at her mistress's feet in a fit of wild weeping, "don't, don't ask me this. I never knew it myself till yesterday, and then I wrung it from my mother, who charged me, if I valued her life, never to lisp it again. It made me wretched. Oh, Miss Della, it would kill you."
"Kill me? How can it affect me, silly child? What nonsense."
Della lifted up the beautiful head which was bowed before her, and turned the pallid face toward her own.
"Tell me, you foolish one," she persisted, her curiosity fully aroused. "I must and will know about it now;" and she stamped her little foot with an air of command, which, toward her favorite, was very rarely assumed.
Minny pressed her hands, clasped one upon the other, hard against her heart, as if its throbbing was painful, and raised her eyes, full of a strange, wild light, to her mistress's face.
"I would sooner die than tell you, Miss."