He and I walked into the house together, and as he went to his patient, I inquired for Mrs. Murray. Her boudoir opened off a corridor which ran at right angles out of the panelled hall where many of the once famous, now infamous, portraits hung. Murray had been moved down to a wing on the ground floor after Sir Beverley came to the Manor, and this boudoir of Rosemary's had a door opening into that wing. It was a charming, low-ceilinged room, with a network of old beams, leaded windows with wide sills where bowls of flowers stood, and delightful chintz chosen by Rosemary herself. She came almost at once, through the door leading from the invalid's wing; and as the sunlight touched her bright hair and white dress I was thrilled by her ethereal beauty. Never had she been more lovely, but she looked fragile as a crystal vase.
"Darling!" I exclaimed, snatching her in my arms. "You are a dream to-day—but I want to see you more solid. You will be soon—a strong pink rose instead of a white lily—because there's the most gorgeous news to-day. I met Sir Beverley and he gave me leave to tell you, because I love you so much. Your dear man is saved. You've helped to save him, and——"
The words died on my lips. I had to put out all my strength with a sudden effort to keep her from falling. She didn't faint, but her knees collapsed. I held her for an instant, then supported her till she had sunk into a chair which was luckily near. If she hadn't been in my arms I think she would have fallen. Her head lay against the high back of the grandfather chair, and her face was so white that she reminded me of a snow-wreath flitting past one's window, ghostlike at twilight.
Her eyes were half closed. She didn't look at me, nor seem to be any longer conscious of my presence; but I dropped on my knees beside her, and covered her cold hands with my own.
"I oughtn't to have told you so abruptly," I said. "Sir Beverley trusted me. I've betrayed his trust. But I thought, as you knew there was hope, hearing that now it was certainty wouldn't excite you too much. Oh, Rosemary, dear, think how glorious it will be! No more fears, no more anxieties. Instead of saying to yourself, 'I have him only for a few weeks,' you will know that you have years together to look forward to. You will be like Jim and me. You can travel. You can——"
"Yes," Rosemary almost whispered. "Yes, it is glorious—for Ralston. I am thankful. You are—good to sympathize so much, and I'm grateful. I—I'd hardly dreamed before that he could get well. All those specialists, they were so sure; many of them very celebrated—as celebrated as Sir Beverley—and he is only one against a dozen. That's why it is—a surprise, you see."
She was making so violent an effort to control herself that I felt guiltily conscious of my eyes upon her face. One would have thought that, instead of giving her the key to happiness, I had handed her that of a dungeon where she would be shut up for life.
"Would you rather I'd go?" I stammered. "Would you like to be alone?"
She nodded, moistening her lips. "Yes, thank you, Elizabeth," she breathed. "I—yes, for a little while I'd like to be alone—with my joy—to pray."
I jumped up like a marionette. "Of course," I said. "I understand."