“I—I have been very foolish,” she whispered. “I am, after all, a woman, and very weak. Ah! Wilfrid—if I only dare tell you the truth—if I only dare?” she gasped, and I saw how terribly agitated she was.
“Why not? Why not confide in me?” I urged, seriously. “I can keep a secret, you know.”
“No, no,” she cried. “How can I? No, I only beg and implore of you to help me, and not to misjudge me.”
“Misjudge you, why? I don’t understand,” I said, in pretence of ignorance.
“Ah! of course not. But to-morrow you will know everything, and—” but she did not conclude her sentence.
There was a change in her countenance, and I saw that she was fainting. I drew her to a big armchair, and a second later she sank into it unconscious.
Next instant I dashed along to my room for the water-bottle, whispered to Eric what had taken place and ran back to assist my little friend.
Ten minutes later she opened her eyes again and gazed steadily at the candle. Then, finding me at her side, she whispered,—
“Yes, ah—yes, I remember. How very foolish I have been. Forgive me, Wilfrid, won’t you? I miscalculated my strength. I thought myself stronger,” and her soft hand again sought mine, and she looked into my eyes steadily, with a long, earnest gaze.
“You are in distress, Tibbie,” I said, as kindly as I could. “What is it? How can I help you?”