More than once she thought of Gaspar's words. He was so true, so
brave--he would have died for her. Ah, if he could but help
her, if she could but call him to her aid! In this, the dark
hour of her life by her own deed she had placed herself beyond
the reach of all human help.
She would write--upon that she was determined; but who would
take the letter? Who could she ask to stand at the shrubbery
gate and give to the stranger a missive from herself? If she
asked such a favor from a servant, she would part with her secret
to one who might hold it as a rod of iron over her. She was too
proud for that. There was only one in the world who could help
her, and that was her sister Lillian.
She shrank with unutterable shame from telling her. She
remembered how long ago at Knutsford she had said something that
had shocked her sister, and the scared, startled expression of
her face was with her still. It was a humiliation beyond all
words. Yet, if she could undergo it, there would be comfort in
Lillian's sympathy. Lillian would take the letter, she would see
Hugh, and tell him she was ill.
Pages:
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388