"Would you mind taking it to her yourself, Precious? Yesterday she sent me a little note begging me to come to her this morning—that she was so ill she could not live much longer. I promised to go, and would have gone only for this strange fainting spell. But if you would take my place——"
"Oh, I will, I will! Poor, poor Hetty! I think mamma would be very sorry to know she had wronged her. Oh, Ethel, wouldn't it please Hetty for mamma to go with me?"
"Oh, no, no! not for the world! The poor girl would not like it at all. And mamma is peculiar about some things. She would be angry if she knew I had befriended my poor maid; so, if you do this favor for me, it must be in secret."
"But, Ethel, is it right to deceive our dear mamma?"
"Have you never kept any secret from mamma?" demanded Ethel, with her keen eyes searching the lovely young face.
Precious grew pale, then crimson, for though she had always made a confidante of her mother she knew that one page was folded down in her heart on which was written the story of a beautiful, hopeless love that no one must ever read.
"Ah, your blush betrays you!" cried Ethel exultantly, and after a moment Precious answered:
"There is one secret, Ethel, that you bade me keep, you know!"
"Hush!" cried Ethel fearfully, and grew pale as death.
"I did not mean to mention it, Ethel; but now tell me what you wish me to do. You are older than I, and you would not surely bid me do anything wrong!"