The hapless young creature did not answer a word. She stared at Beatrix mutely with wide, wild eyes like a hunted fawn's.
"Well, what do you say, Laurel?" inquired Beatrix. "Will you do as I wish you?"
"It is too terrible a risk. I do not dare," moaned Laurel, hiding her face in her hands.
Then for a time there was silence. Beatrix was hurt and chagrined that her plan had been discarded. She thought Laurel was a headstrong, willful child, rushing blindly upon her own destruction.
But she could not help pitying the girl, her fear and misery were so great. She desisted from advising her. It seemed too much like torturing some lovely, helpless creature. The hunted look in the dark eyes pained her.
"After all, is she any worse than I am?" said Beatrix to herself. "I deceived my parents. I risked everything for love's sake, and this poor child has done no more than that. I must not be angry with her. I must remember always that it was I who led her into temptation."
She went to her gently, she took the white hands from the pale, tear-stained face, and held them kindly in both of hers.
"Laurel, do not look so miserable and heart-broken," she said, gently. "You need not be afraid of me."
Laurel looked at her with a flash of hope in her humid eyes.
"Do you mean that you will not betray me?" she panted.