Part 23 (1/2)

”Miss Vane, are you ill? For pity's sake tell me what is wrong!”

Another murmur sounded faintly in his ear, followed by an incoherent--”I'm only--asleep! So--very--tired!”

With a sharp exclamation the Editor leapt upwards, and the drowsy Margot felt herself suddenly hoisted to her feet by a pair of strong arms. The arms retained their hold of her even after she was erect, shaking her to and fro with almost painful energy.

”But you _must_ not sleep! Margot, Margot, awake! I can't let you sleep. It is the worst thing you could do. Speak to me, Margot. Tell me you understand. Margot! Darling! Oh, do rouse yourself, and try to understand!”

Margot never forgot that moment, or the wonder of it. She seemed to herself to be wandering in a strange country, far, far away from the solid tangible earth--a land of darkness and dreams, of strange, numbing unreality. Her eyes were open, yet saw nothing: impalpable chains fettered her limbs, so that they grew stiff and refused to move; an icy coldness crept around her heart. Hearing, like the other senses, was dulled, yet through the throbbing silence a sound had penetrated, bringing with it a thrill of returning life. Some one had called ”_Margot_” in a tone she had never heard before. Some one had said, ”_Darling_!”

Back through the fast-closing mists of unconsciousness Margot's soul struggled to meet her mate. Her fingers tightened feebly on his, and her cold lips breathed a reply.

”Yes--I am here! Do you want me?”

Something like a sob sounded in the Editor's throat.

”Do I want you? My little Margot! Did I ever want anything before?

Come, I will warm your little cold hands. I will lead you every step of the way. You can't sit here any longer to perish of cold. We will walk on, and ask G.o.d to guide our feet. Lean on me. Don't be afraid!”

Then the dream became a moving one, in which she was borne forward encircled by protecting arms; on and on; unceasingly onward, with ever- increasing difficulty and pain.

George Elgood never knew whether he hit, as he supposed, a straight road forward, or wandered aimlessly over the same ground. His one care was to support his companion, and to test each footstep before he took it; for the rest, he had put himself in G.o.d's hands, with a simple faith which expected a reply; and when at last the light of the cottage windows shone feebly through the mist his thankfulness was as great as his relief.

As for Margot, she was too completely exhausted to realise relief; she knew only a shrinking from the light, from the strange watching face; a deathly sensation as of falling from a towering height, before darkness and oblivion overpowered her, and she lay stretched unconscious upon the bed.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

PARTINGS.

It was six days later when Margot opened her eyes, and found herself lying on the little white bed in the bedroom of the Nag's Head, with some one by the window whose profile as outlined against the light seemed strangely and sweetly familiar. She stared dumbly, with a confused wonder in her brain. _Edith_? It could not possibly be Edith!

What should bring Edith up to Glenaire in this sudden and unexpected fas.h.i.+on? And why was she herself so weak and languid that to speak and ask the question seemed an almost impossible exertion?

What had happened? Was she only dreaming that her head ached, and her hands seemed too heavy to move, and that Edith sat by the window near a table covered with medicine bottles and gla.s.ses? Margot blinked her eyes, and stared curiously around. No! it was no dream; she was certainly awake, and through the dull torpor of her brain a remembrance began slowly to work. Something had happened! She had been tired and cold; oh, cold, cold, cold; so cold that it had seemed impossible to live. She had wandered on and on, through an eternity of darkness, which had ended in the blackness of night. Her head throbbed with the effort of thinking; she shut her eyes and lay quietly, waiting upon remembrance.

Suddenly it came. A faint flush of colour showed itself in the white cheek, and a tingle of warmth ran through the veins. She remembered now upon whose arm she had hung, whose voice it was which had cheered her onward; in trembling, incredulous fas.h.i.+on she remembered what that voice had said!

A faint exclamation sounded through the stillness, whereupon Edith looked round quickly, and hurried to the bedside.

”Margot! My darling! Do you know me at last?”

Margot smiled wanly. The smooth rounded face had fallen away sadly in that week of fever and unconsciousness, and a little hand was pushed feebly forward.

”Of course. I'm so glad! Edie, have I been ill?”

”Yes, darling; but you are better now. After a few days' rest you will be well again. You must not be nervous about your dear self.”

”And you came?”

”Yes, darling; Ron telegraphed, and father and I came up at once. Agnes is taking care of the boys.”