“Why not? I want you to go. I want to hear every word he speaks to you.”
“Nettie, you are ill,” said Miss Moffat, noticing the flush on her friend’s thin cheeks, the brightness of her eyes, and the parched dryness of her lips; “is there nothing you could fancy, dear; nothing I could get that might tempt you to eat?”
Mrs. Brady shook her head; then said with a faint smile,—
“I will try to eat something if you promise to tell me word for word all Amos says to you.”
“How can I do so, you being what you are?” Grace replied.
“I am the most miserable wretch on earth,” Nettie exclaimed. “My heart is breaking, Grace, and you will not do the simplest thing to try and ease it.”
“Nettie dear, how can you ask me?” pleaded Miss Moffat. “I do not love you less because I refuse to betray any confidence the unhappy man may put in me.”
“Do you think I want him hung?” inquired Nettie. “Do you think I should not be glad to hear he had got off safe? I tell you, if laying down my own life could procure his acquittal, I would cheerfully do it.”
“You certainly must be insane,” said Grace, with the quiet force of conviction; “however, to humour you I promise this, that I will repeat as much as I can of our conversation, although I should have thought this the very last subject on which you would have wished to hear me speak.”
“Should you?” exclaimed Nettie. “Well, that only shows how mistaken even clever people may be sometimes. Hush! Here comes that woman!” and Mrs. Brady slipped back into her own room, closing the door softly behind her.