Maude was silent for a moment, and then she asked, abruptly:
"Jerrie, why did you never fall in love with Harold?"
"Oh, Maude!" and Jerrie started as if Maude had struck her, while the tell-tale blood rushed to her face, and into her eyes there came a look which even Maude could understand.
"Jerrie," she exclaimed, "forgive me. I didn't know, I never guessed, I was so stupid; but I have been thinking so much since Harold went away. Does he know about you? who you are, I mean? and how long before he will come home?"
"Judge St. Claire wrote him everything three days ago," Jerrie replied, "and told him how sick you were. That will surely bring him at once, if it is possible for him to leave; but it will be three or four days now before the letter will reach him, and it will take a week for him to come. Would you like to see him very much?"
"Yes," Maude answered, "but I never shall. Jerrie, did Harold ever—did he—does he—love you?"
"He never told me so," Jerrie said, frankly; "but I have thought that he loved you."
"N—no," Maude answered, piteously. "It was all a mistake, and when I am dead and Harold comes, promise to tell him something from me, will you?"
"Yes," Jerrie replied, and Maude continued:
"Tell him the very first time you and he are alone together, and speak of me, that I have been thinking and thinking until it came to me clear as day that it was all a mistake, a stupid blunder on my part. I was always stupid, you know; but I believe my brain is clearer now. Will you tell him, Jerrie?"