This resolution reconciled me somewhat to myself. I stole toward the bed, and through my tears gazed upon that marble face.
“Oh, my father, can you hear me?” I murmured. “It is your child—not the demon who refused to forgive—but you are forgiven. In eternity you have seen the wronged one, and instead of curses she has filled your immortality with blessings. I see them upon this face, that in its ineffable calm forgives even me, who was implacable.”
The broken sobs and murmurs in which I uttered these words of grief awoke young Morton, who arose and came toward the window. Turner advanced.
“Let some one arouse the family, the Earl of Clare is dead.”
Morton turned deathly pale, and almost staggered as he went out to perform this mournful duty.
CHAPTER XLVI.
A VISIT TO MY ARCH ENEMY.
Directly the chamber was filled. Weeping domestics crowded the ante-room. Lady Catherine and her son stood by the death couch; the mother lost in noisy grief; the young man white and tearless as the dead face upon which he gazed.
As Lady Catherine removed the embroidered handkerchief from her face, her eyes fell upon me where I stood by the window near the strange lawyer. Her face flushed, and she came toward us.
“How long has this girl been in Lord Clare’s chamber? How dare she insult our grief by intruding here?”
She spoke hurriedly, casting eager glances at the parchment which the lawyer still held.