A few more days of agony like this, and I shall be free forever
from Hugh Fernely."
Her sister tried to soothe her with gentle words, but they
brought no comfort.
"He will be here at nine," she said; "it is six now. I will
write my letter. He will be at the shrubbery gate. I will
manage so that you shall have time. Give him the note I will
write, speak to him for me, tell him I am ill and can not see
him. Shall you be frightened?"
"Yes," replied Lillian, gently; "but that will not matter. I
must think of you, not of myself."
"You need not fear him," said Beatrice. "Poor Hugh, I could pity
him if I did not hate him. Lily, I will thank you when my agony
is over; I can not now."
She wrote but a few words, saying she was ill and unable to see
him; he must be satisfied, and willing to wait yet a little
longer.
She gave the letter to her sister. Lillian's heart ached as she
noted the trembling hands and quivering lips.
"I have not asked you to keep my secret, Lily," said Beatrice,
sorrowfully.
"There is no need," was the simple reply.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Sir Harry and Lady Laurence dined that day at Earlescourt, and it
was nearly nine before the gentlemen, who did not sit long over
their wine, came into the drawing room.
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