"
"I will remain with you, Mary," said Margaret, "and I will myself make
the alteration. Then I'll take all the blame in case we are discovered."
Margaret rose, walked over to the table, and took up the quill. She
trembled so violently that she could not control her hand.
"No, mother, you shall not touch it," cried Yolanda, snatching the
parchment from the countess and holding it behind her. "If I would let
you, you could not make the alteration; see, your hand trembles! You
would blot the parchment and spoil all this fine plan of mine. Give me
the quill, mother! Give me the quill!"
She took the quill from Margaret's passive hand and sat down at the
table. Spreading the missive before her, she dipped the quill in the
ink-well, and when she lifted it, a drop of ink fell upon the table
within a hair's breadth of the parchment.
"Ah, Blessed Virgin!" cried Yolanda, snatching the missive away from the
ink blot. "If the ink had fallen on the parchment, we surely had been
lost. I, too, am trembling, and I dare not try to make the alteration
now. What a poor, helpless creature I am, when I cannot even cross a 't'
to save myself. Blessed Virgin, help me once more!"
But help did not come. Yolanda's excitement grew instead of subsiding,
and she was so wrought upon by a nameless fear that she began to weep.
Margaret seated herself on the divan and covered her face with her
hands. Yolanda walked the floor like a caged wild thing, uttering
ejaculatory prayers to the Virgin.
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