There, now ye know all, Miss Dinah dear, and don't ye
for the love of heaven tell a soul what I've told ye! Miss Isabel would
never forgive me if she came to know. Ah, the saints preserve us, what's
that?"
A brisk tap at the door had made her jump with violence. She went to
parley with a guilty air.
In a moment or two she shut the door and came back. "It's that flighty
young French hussy, Miss Dinah; her they call Yvonne. She says Sir
Eustace is waiting for ye downstairs."
A great revulsion of feeling went through Dinah. It shook her like an
overwhelming tempest and passed, leaving her deadly cold. She turned
white to the lips.
"I can't go to him, Biddy," she said. "I can't dance to-night. Yvonne
must tell him."
Biddy gave her a searching look. "Ye won't let him find out, Miss Dinah?"
she urged. "Won't he guess now if ye stay up here?"
The earnest entreaty of the old bright eyes moved her. She turned to the
door. "Oh, very well. I'll go myself and tell him."
"Ye won't let him suspect, mavourneen--mavourneen?" pleaded Biddy
desperately.
"No, Biddy, no! Haven't I sworn it a dozen times already?" Dinah had
reached the door; she looked back for a moment and her look was steadfast
notwithstanding the deathly pallor of her face. Then she passed slowly
forth, and heard old Biddy softly turn the key behind her, making
assurance doubly sure.
Slowly she moved along the passage.
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