was daunted. She
hesitated, stammered half a word, and was silent.

"Good-bye," said Jane; "and I hope to God no one will ever be such a
brute to you as you have been to me." She turned, but before she reached
the door Milly had caught her by the arm.

"No, don't, don't!" she cried. "I _do_ believe you, I do! You poor
darling! You must have done it in your sleep. Oh, forgive me, Jane dear.
I'll never tell a soul, and Edgar----"

"Ah," said Jane, turning mournful eyes on her, "Edgar would have
believed in me."

And at that Milly understood--in part, at least--and held out her arms.

"Oh, you poor dear! and I never even guessed! Oh, forgive me!" and she
cried over Jane and kissed her many times. "Oh, my dear!" she said, as
Jane yielded herself to the arms and her face to the kisses, "I've got
something to tell you. You must be brave."

"No--no more," Jane said shrilly; "I can't bear any more. I don't want
to know how it happened, or anything. He's dead--that's enough."

"But----" Milly clung sobbing to her, sobbing with sympathy and
agitation.

Jane pushed her back, held her at arm's length and looked at her with
eyes that were still dry.

"You're a good little thing, after all," she said. "Yes--now I'll tell
you. You were quite right. It was a lie--but half of it was true--the
half I told you--but I wanted you to believe the other half too. I did
walk in my sleep, and I must have opened that cabinet and taken Edgar's
story out, because I found myself standing there with it in my hands.
And he was dead, and---- Oh, Milly. I knew he was dead, of course, and
yet he was there--I give you my word he was there, and I heard him say
'Take it, take it, take it!' quite plainly, like I'm speaking to you
now. And I took it; and I copied it out--it took me nearly all
night--and then I sent it to you. And I'd never have told you the truth
as long as you didn't believe me--never--never. But now you do believe
me I won't lie to you. There! Let me go. I think I was mad then, and I
know I am now. Tell every one. I don't care."

But Milly threw her arms round her again. The love interest had
overpowered the moral sense. What did the silly story, or the theft, or
the lie matter--what were they, compared with the love-secret she had
surprised?

"My darling Jane," she said, holding her friend closely and still
weeping lavishly, "don't worry about the story: I quite understand.
Let's forget it. You've got quite enough trouble to