Alice knew that she was there, and she pressed both hands upon her lips to force back the secret she had been forbidden to divulge.
“Is she delirious?” Frederic asked, and shaking her head, Alice whispered: “No, no, but happy, so happy. Oh, Frederic, I don’t want to die! Must I? If I take a heap of Doctor’s stuff, will I get well, think?”
“I hope so,” said Frederic, his suspicions of insanity rapidly increasing.
“Give me your hand,” she continued, “and yours, too, Miss Grey.”
Both were extended, and joining them together she said, “Love her, Frederic. Love her all you want to. You may—you may. It isn’t wicked. Oh, Marian, Marian.”
The last word was a whisper, and as it died away, Marian seized Frederic’s arm, and said, beseechingly: “Please leave the room, Mr. Raymond. You see she is excited, and I can quiet her best alone. Will you go?”
The brown eyes looked reproachfully at her and entreatingly at him, but neither heeded the expression, and with a feeling that he scarcely understood what the whole proceeding meant, and why he had been called in if he must be summarily dismissed, Frederic went out, leaving Marian alone with Alice.
“Why didn’t you let me tell him?” the latter asked, and Marian replied, “I shall tell him by and by: but I am not ready yet, and you must not betray me.”
“I’ll try,” said Alice, “but ’tis so hard. I had to bite my tongue to keep the words from coming. Where have you been? Why didn’t you come to us before. How came you so beautiful—so grand?” Alice asked, all in the same breath.
But Marian absolutely refused to answer the question until she had become quiet and been refreshed with sleep.