Poor little,
simple Rosy, too! The tide had crept around her also, and had swept
her off her feet, tossing her upon its surf like a wisp of seaweed and
bearing her each day farther from firm shore.
"Do not be terrified," she said. "You need only be afraid if--if you had
told him."
"He will never know--never. Once in the middle of the night," there was
anguish in the delicate face, pure anguish, "a strange loud cry wakened
me, and it was I myself who had cried out--because in my sleep it had
come home to me that the years would go on and on, and at last some day
he would die and go out of the world--and I should die and go out of the
world. And he would never know--even KNOW."
Betty's clasp of her loosened and she sat very still, looking straight
before her into some unseen place.
"Yes," she said involuntarily. "Yes, _I_ know--I know--I know."
Lady Anstruthers fell back a little to gaze at her.
"YOU know? YOU know?" she breathed. "Betty?"
But Betty at first did not speak. Her lovely eyes dwelt on the far-away
place.
"Betty," whispered Rosy, "do you know what you have said?"
The lovely eyes turned slowly towards her, and the soft corners of
Betty's mouth deepened in a curious unsteadiness.
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