In the meantime she was disembarrassed of her out-door
clothing. A stimulant at length so far restored her that she could
speak connectedly.
"I don't know what you will think of me.--I am obliged to tell you
something I hoped never to speak of. Denzil ought to know first what
has happened; but I can't go to him.--I must tell you, and trust
your friendship. Perhaps you can help me; you will--I know you
will if you can."
"Anything in my power," replied the listener, soothingly. "Whatever
you tell me is perfectly safe. I think you know me well enough,
Lily."
Then Lilian began, and told her story from first to last.
CHAPTER XXI
Told it rapidly, now and then confusedly, but with omission of
nothing essential. So often she had reviewed her life, at successive
stages of culture and self-knowledge. Every step had been debated in
heart and conscience. She had so much to say, yet might not linger
in the narration, and feared to seem eager ill the excuse of what
she had done. To speak of these things to one of her own sex was in
itself a great relief, yet from time to time the recollection that
she was betraying Denzil's Secret struck her with cold terror. Was
not this necessity a result of her weakness? A stronger woman would
perhaps have faced the situation in some other way.
Mrs. Wade listened intently, and the story seemed to move her in no
slight degree.
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