Then all the strength left that poor wife, and she fell forward upon her knees.
“Explain this scene, if you can, madam,” said the young man, motioning Catharine away with his hand, while he turned to Mrs. Judson.
Before the lady could answer, Catharine held up one hand, with a paper quivering like a dead leaf between the fingers.
“Look at me! look at me! I am Catharine. Forgive me. They would not let me die—forgive me; but I am Catharine Lacy.”
De Marke snatched the paper from her hand, read it at a glance, and with an exclamation of “thank God—oh! thank God,” uttered as it were in a flood of joy, lifted Catharine from his feet, and kissed her upon the forehead, again and again.
The bride uttered a cry, sharp with pain; De Marke took no heed of it, but bent tenderly over Catharine.
“And is it indeed true? Catharine, Catharine Lacy? Oh! this is joy indeed.”
“Mother, mother, take me away; he wishes to kill me!” cried the bride, throwing her arms wildly around Mrs. Judson.
De Marke heard her, and looked around.
“No, beloved, no,—I am only mad with joy. One moment, one moment!”