“Do you know all?” she asked, looking fixedly at him.
“Phebe has told me as well as she could, so I don’t want you to talk about it tonight, as you are in too excited a state to do so. I have a little powder here which I want you to take so that you may sleep well tonight, for I must go away in a little while and leave you in your good Phebe’s care,” he said, gently, like one speaking to a sick child.
“Then I shall be quite deserted,” she murmured, plaintively.
“No, for I shall come again.”
“When?” pleadingly.
“Tomorrow.”
She caught his arm as he bent down to hold the medicine glass to her lips.
“You do not look scornful like the rest,” she panted. “Ah, won’t you—won’t you—beg him to forgive me? I was wicked, I know, but I have suffered so much since that it almost seems as if my remorse and sorrow had washed out my sin. And—I loved him so! How could I help it when we loved each other so, and that secret would have parted us forever? Tell him, tell him—” her voice broke in hysterical sobs, and he pushed her gently back among the pillows as he said:
“I’ll see him. Only be quiet, dear, and I’ll tell him all you said and more, for he shall know the sweet secret you have been hiding from him—the secret that will surely bring him back to you.”
“No, no, he will not return; he has left me forever,” she sobbed, and turned her face from him so that it was hidden from sight. He sat down patiently until the heaving breast grew quiet in the stillness of a drugged sleep, then leaving her in Phebe’s watchful care, went in search of his brother.