She lay back silent for a minute, then turned her eyes on her maid.
“Ask Miss Daw to come now.”
The earl moved away and buried his face in his folded arms on the mantelpiece. Margery came in softly, then, with one deep sigh, crouched beside the bed and put her lips to the thin hands.
“Margery,” whispered Lady Enid—“my dear Margery!”
“You are better—oh, tell me you are better, Enid!” faltered Margery.
“Darling, listen to me. I am dying. My poor Margery, be brave. I have known it a long time; the shock to-day has—has—only hastened it. But I want you to do something for me. Margery, do not promise till you have heard what it is. Nugent!” The earl came to her with slow steps. “You shall not be left alone, Margery, when I am gone. Margery, you have loved me—you know all; I want you to be my brother’s wife!”
Margery drew back for an instant, and stood with her hands pressed against her bosom, her mind distracted, the words just uttered ringing in her ears.
Could she link herself to one whom she could never love, though she deeply respected him? Could she give herself to another while she believed herself pledged to Stuart Crosbie forever? Her eyes met the sweet brown ones, already dim with pain, turned wistfully upon her. A flood of pity filled her; she dropped upon her knees, and breathed:
“I will.”
Lady Enid waited a moment; then, grasping Margery’s hand, she held it toward the earl, and across her bed the compact was sealed.