"Margery, shall I swear that you have no reason to be jealous of me?"
"Oh, no, Rachel," I said; "don't swear. Go away and be happy, as I am, and sleep soundly."
She moved away a step or two, but came back hesitatingly.
"Margery," said she, "I want to tell you—if you will listen to me—I have a great trouble."
"Have you?" said I. "To think of anyone having a trouble in this world! I can't believe it."
"But, Margery," she said, putting her hands on my shoulders, and looking down at me, "I have a secret, and I came here to tell it to you, and you must listen, for it concerns you."
"Does it?" said I; "then you had better not trust me with your secret, Rachel. I think I have a wild creature chained up in me somewhere, and it might do you harm. I advise you not to have anything to do with me. Good-night."
"Ah!" said she bitterly, turning away, "was ever anyone so changed in so short a time. This is Miss Tyrrell's doing. She is a spy upon me, and yet I defy her to know anything about me. She has filled you with her own cruel prejudice."
"Do not say anything against the Tyrrells in my hearing," I said. "They are the dearest friends I have."
"If that be true," answered Rachel thoughtfully, "I have nothing more to say. The thing that I was going to tell you does not concern you, and I have been spared a humiliation for the present. When you know all, you can cry out against me with the rest. Remember," she added distinctly with proud bitterness, "I give you full permission."