handkerchief, but that which she had read she left open and in sight. She took both the girl's hands in hers as she looked into her face, and spoke to her. "Lily, my child!" Then she burst into sobs, and was unable to tell her tale.
"Is it from him, mamma? May I read it? He cannot be"
"It is from Mr. Crosbie."
"Is he ill, mamma? Tell me at once. If he is ill I will go to him."
"No, my darling, he is not ill. Not yet;—do not read it yet. Oh, Lily! It brings bad news; very bad news."
"Mamma, if he is not in danger, I can read it. Is it bad to him, or only bad to me?"
At this moment the servant knocked, and not waiting for an answer half opened the door.
"If you please, ma'am, Mr. Bernard is below, and wants to speak to you."
"Mr. Bernard! ask Miss Bell to see him."
"Miss Bell is with him, ma'am, but he says that he specially wants to speak to you."
Mrs. Dale felt that she could not leave Lily alone. She could not take the letter away, nor could she leave her child with the letter open.
"I cannot see him," said Mrs. Dale. "Ask him what it is. Tell him I cannot come down just at present." And then the servant went, and Bernard left his message with Bell.
"Bernard," she had said, "do you know of anything? Is there anything wrong about Mr. Crosbie?" Then, in a few words, he told her all, and understanding why his aunt had not come down to him, he went back to the Great House. Bell, almost stupefied by the tidings, seated herself at the table unconsciously, leaning upon her elbows.
"It will kill her," she said to herself. "My Lily, my darling Lily! It will surely kill her."
But the mother was still with the daughter, and the story was still untold.
"Mamma," said Lily, "whatever it is, I must, of course, be made to know it. I begin to guess the truth. It will pain you to say it. Shall I read the letter?"
Mrs. Dale was astonished at her calmness. It could not be that
