"Oh, I am much better," she told her, as Julie made anxious inquiries; and with a violent effort she contrived to act her part pretty successfully--to dress and seem as usual--even to attempt to eat some breakfast. But this latter was a hard task. The morning papers had the "Mysterious Death" among their "sensations," and gave ominous hints as to "Victor a'Court's" career which threatened her with a return of that convulsive shivering.
However, when she went downstairs, her aunt and uncle seemed so cheerfully matter-of-fact--her aunt gave her such very pronounced hints on the subject of Vansittart--"they would be quite to themselves, because she was going out, but she hoped Joan would insist upon his dining with them that evening as he disappointed them last night," etc.--that she began to feel as if the tragedy in her young, unfortunate life were unreal--dream-like.
The sun shone warmly upon the brilliant bloom of the flowers in her balcony. A canary sang joyously from its cage outside the window of the next house. The lively rattle of carts, the smooth roll of carriages, the shrill voices of passing children--all meant life--life! And she was greedy, thirsty for life--she--who a few hours ago had done a fellow-creature to death.
"All is not--quite--lost," she mused, as she leant her tired head on her hands--she had seated herself at her writing-table, and was pretending to be busy with her correspondence. "I can do nothing--any more--for poor, cruel Victor--may God be merciful to him! But he has relatives--this actress sister--he never said a word of her to me, I may hope he never said a word of me to her. I may be able to make her life very different--after all this is over and forgotten--hers and any other relatives of his--and I will! I will not spend one single day without doing something to tend to some comfort or advantage for them!"
She was still trying to plan her announcement of her changed wishes to Vansittart, so as not to excite the faintest suspicion in his mind that anything had occurred to alter her ideas between her last meeting and this, when she heard voices outside--the groom of the chambers announced "Lord Vansittart"--and he precipitately entered.
He advanced, a little pale and anxious-looking, but so handsome, such a tower of strength, such embodied manhood at its noblest, that suddenly she felt utterly overwhelmed, submerged--she tottered gasping into his arms, and clung to him as madly as one drowning cleaves to his rescuer.
"Oh--it is you--" she deliriously stammered. "Don't--don't leave me--oh--what am I saying? Are we both--alive? Is it real?"
In her delirious collapse she would not let him kiss her lips. First she hid her face in his coat, then she kissed it--wildly, almost passionately.
"My poor, sweet darling; be calm--it is all right--I will take care of you!" he said, tenderly, brokenly. To see her thus almost unnerved him--he was losing command of his voice--two great cold tears stood in his eyes, then ran down and lay glistening on her golden hair. "Come, my dearest love! Something has upset you, but never mind; I promise you it shall not happen again--I will stand between you and trouble."
He stopped short, horrified--for she burst into a wild peal of laughter. She struggled to subdue it by hiding her head upon his arm. He gazed down at her pretty golden head, speechless with mingled feelings. Once more the ugly idea crept up unbidden within him--that Joan was "going mad."