So they said good-night and she entered the pretty vestibule where she had first seen Mrs. Barrington. Her heart gave a quick bound as she thought of that lady’s confidence in her truth. Mrs. Dane must sometime be convinced of her injustice.
She ran lightly up the stairs, wondering a little that her mother’s room should be in darkness. Crossing over to the match safe she stumbled over something on the floor and struck a light in half terror.
“Oh mother! mother!” she cried to the prostrate figure. Then in sudden fear she called in the hall—“Oh, will some one come! I cannot tell what has happened to mother.”
Miss Arran answered. The face was deadly white and cold, the eyes half open, staring.
“Oh, she is dead! I went out to walk and staid too long.” Lilian’s voice was full of remorseful pathos.
“No,” said Miss Arran. “I think she has only fainted. Her heart beats a little; Let us lay her on the bed and I’ll get some restoratives. Is she accustomed to fainting?”
“Not like this. Oh poor mother!”
They laid her on the bed, chafed her hands and bathed her face, using the lavender salts. After a little there was a faint respiration. Then she opened her eyes and murmured something.
“Mother, dear, what happened? And I was away.” “It will be better when—when I’m gone.” The vague glance seemed to study the girl with poignant anguish. “Oh, yes!—better—”
“You must not say that. You must live to let me repay you for all you have done for me, and we will be happy—”