A cry of rage escaped her lips, and her eyes flashed with fury.
She had found out Molly’s shyly guarded secret at a glance.
Louise Barry almost went wild with rage at this discovery. She pushed Molly’s silent form rudely from her, and exclaimed, angrily:
“I hate her more than ever now, for if he knows this he will return to her for his own honor’s sake. What shall I do, what shall I do to keep them apart, for my secret will be betrayed it she meets him again.”
The door opened and Phebe stalked in, grim and anxious. When she saw Molly lying pallid and unconscious on the bed, she uttered a cry of alarm and pushed Louise roughly away.
“What have you done to my poor young mistress?” she exclaimed.
“I have done nothing. It is a faint, simply,” Louise answered, carelessly.
“It looks like death,” Phebe muttered, bringing eau-de-Cologne to lave the girl’s face and hands. Her eyes at that moment fell on the thick cloak. “Who put this cloak here?” she exclaimed, suspiciously.
“I did. She seemed so chilly that I laid it over her to keep her warm,” the wily woman answered, coolly.
Phebe turned upon her, her rough, homely face pale with anger.