Part 64 (1/2)

She rang the bell, a chambermaid came. Lady Helena kissed the girl's pale cheek affectionately, and Edith was led away to the room she was to occupy for that night.

It was certainly a contrast in its size and luxurious appointments to that she had used for the last ten months. She smiled a little as she glanced around. And she was to spend the night under the same roof with Sir Victor Catheron. If anyone had predicted it this morning, how scornfully she would have refused to believe.

”Who can tell what a day may bring forth!” was Edith's last thought as she laid her head on her pillow. ”I am glad--very glad, that the accident will not prove fatal. I don't want him or anyone else to come to his death through me.”

She slept well and soundly, and awoke late. She sprang out of bed almost instantly and dressed. She could but ill afford to lose a day.

Before her toilet was quite completed there was a tap at the door. She opened it and saw Miss Catheron.

”I fancied you would be up early, and ordered breakfast accordingly.

Aunt Helena awaits you down stairs. How did you sleep?”

”Very well. And you--you were up all night I suppose?”

”Yes. I don't mind it at all, though--I am quite used to night watching. And I have the reward of knowing Victor is much better--entirely out of danger indeed. Edith,” she laid her hands on the girl's shoulders and looked down into her eyes, ”he knows you are here. Will you be merciful to a dying man and see him?”

She changed color and shrank a little, but she answered proudly and coldly:

”No good can come of it. It will be much better not, but for my own part I care little. If he wishes to urge what you came to urge, I warn you, I will not listen to a word; I will leave at once.”

”He will not urge it. He knows how obdurate you are, how fruitless it would be. Ah, Edith! you are a terribly haughty, self-willed girl. He will not detain you a moment--he wishes to make but one parting request.”

”I can grant nothing--nothing,” Edith said with agitation.

”You will grant this, I think,” the other answered sadly. ”Come, dear child, let us go down; Lady Helena waits.”

They descended to breakfast; Edith ate little. In spite of herself, in spite of her pride and self command, it shook her a little--the thought of speaking to _him_.

But how was she to refuse? She rose at last, very pale, very stern and resolute looking--the sooner it was over and she was gone, the better.

”Now,” she said, ”if you insist--”

”I do insist,” answered Inez steadily. ”Come.”

She led her to a door down the corridor and rapped. How horribly thick and fast Edith's heart beat; she hated herself for it. The door opened, and the grave, professional face of Mr. Jamison looked out.

”Tell Sir Victor, Lady Catheron is here, and will see him.”

The man bowed and departed. Another instant and he was again before them:

”Sir Victor begs my lady to enter at once.”

Then Inez Catheron took her in her arms and kissed her. It was her farewell. She pointed forward and hurried away.

Edith went on. A door and curtain separated her from the inner room.

She opened one, lifted the other, and husband and wife were face to face.

He lay upon a low sofa--the room was partially darkened, but even in that semi-darkness she could see that he looked quite as ghastly and bloodless this morning as he had last night.