The miniature, which for some time past had been vacillating between my pocket and my trunk, as its safety demanded, had, on the afternoon of my ride, being lying on the table before me, while I was dressing, but on an alarm of Mrs. Roberts' approach, I had thrown the ribbon around my neck, and hid it in my bosom, whence, in my hurry and excitement, I had forgotten to take it, and it had remained there during my ride, for I remembered feeling it, with no pleasant association at the time either, while I was waiting for Michael on the common. This I distinctly remembered, and—now it was gone. That was all I knew; that was enough to make me sick with fright. I covered up my face, and lay quiet, but very miserable. What would I not have given if I had never touched that miniature, or worn that skirt. The business of deceit was new to me, and in proportion it looked black. I had almost fretted myself into a fever, when Mrs. Arnold reappeared with my goûté, most temptingly arranged upon the cleanest of china and whitest of napkins. She placed it by me, and announced that it was ready.
I looked up in her face, my own rather flushed, no doubt, and said:
"You see he let me have it, Mrs. Arnold."
"I see he did, Miss," she answered, quite gravely.
"I knew he would; I was right after all."
"I hope so, Miss."
Her grave looks troubled me. I did not take the knife and fork she offered me, but looking at her earnestly, I said, abruptly:
"Mrs. Arnold, honestly, do you think that's bad for me?"
She looked somewhat startled by my question, but answered quietly:
"Honestly, Miss, I think it is a risk; but the doctor has consented, and I have nothing to say."