Lizzie was sobbing now, though very quietly, behind the shelter of her hands, whilst Maraquita lay on the couch silent but pondering what she would say. ‘Speak to me,’ cried Lizzie presently. ‘Say something, for God’s sake, and put me out of my pain.’ ‘What am I to say?’ replied Maraquita. ‘You frighten me when you talk like that. Has anything terrible happened since your poor father’s death, and how can _I_ help you out of it?’ ‘I will tell you what has happened,’ said Lizzie presently. ‘Mammy Lila is dead, and the child is with me, and every one is talking about it, and saying it is mine. What am I to do, Quita--what _am_ I to do? I cannot speak, because my lips are closed by the oath my father made me take; and if I _could_ speak, do you think I would betray my dearest friend? And can I send it from me--the poor, helpless, tender little creature who has no one to look after it and love it but myself?’ ‘But whose child is it?’ inquired Maraquita, with her dark eyes fixed full on those of her adopted sister. Lizzie regarded her for a moment in silent consternation. Was it possible that Quita was in ignorance of her child’s birth, and had her late father managed so skilfully as to keep her unaware of what had happened? Such things _had_ been. But the next minute Liz had rejected the idea with scorn. At any rate Maraquita must have known what lay before her when she found her way to the Doctor’s bungalow, and if she affected ignorance now, it was only because she was unaware that Lizzie knew the whole truth. ‘Oh, Maraquita,’ she exclaimed, ‘don’t be afraid of confessing it to me, for I know everything! My father was obliged to confide in me. He could not have managed without my assistance. But my oath seals my lips to all the world but you. But is it right to keep such a secret from your father and mother, especially when doing so involves the ruin of any other woman? You don’t know what the charge of that little infant has brought upon me? Even Mr Courtney suspects my honesty. And as for Monsieur de Courcelles--’ ‘What has Monsieur de Courcelles to do with it?’ cried Quita hastily. Lizzie coloured. She had never spoken of her relations with Henri de Courcelles to Quita before, but this was no time to let feeling get the better of justice. ‘He has everything to do with _me_,’ she answered, in a low tone. ‘Quita, I have never told you before, that I am engaged to be married to Monsieur de Courcelles.’ ‘_You_--engaged to be married--to _Henri_? Oh, it is not true! You are deceiving me!’ exclaimed Quita, as she sprang to a sitting position, and turned a face of ashy pallor to her companion. But Lizzie suspected no more than she saw. She only thought that Quita was astonished that she should have been kept in the dark with regard to so important a subject, and hastened to defend her own conduct.