“There is one—thing more,” she whispered, with difficulty; “the—end may be soon. I could die—happier if—if you were made man and wife now.”
The earl was silent; but Margery raised her head, her cheeks as pale as those lying on the pillow.
“It shall be so,” she said, clearly; “be comforted.”
The earl stooped, and pressed his lips to his sister’s; a sigh burst from his overcharged heart.
“As Margery says, I say; we will be married here in the morning. I will arrange it.”
Then, without another word, he passed out of the room.
Margery hardly moved all through the long, terrible night that followed. Lady Enid held her hand within her own, and, fearful of disturbing her few moments of slumber, Margery did not stir, though she grew faint and stiff as the hours passed. What were her thoughts during the interval? She could not have told; but the dominant feeling was one of bitter grief, an agony of regret and sorrow as she looked at the pale young face with the seal of death already upon it. The promise she had given did not come home to her in those silent moments; she was striving to gauge the depths of Enid’s great and noble nature. How brave, how strong she had been, with the knowledge that she was doomed, ever present in her breast! What courage had filled that poor, fragile frame, what an infinity of love that feebly-beating heart! Ah, what a lesson was it to the girl crouched in that sickroom to bury self and live for others!
Toward early dawn—the girl was worn out with fatigue and sorrow—Margery’s eyes closed; and, with her wealth of red-gold curls spread over the coverlet, she slumbered peacefully. Lady Enid woke early. She was faint, even weaker than the night had left her; yet, as she saw the daylight creep into the room, her heart almost leaped with joy—her mind was at rest. Her eyes lingered with tenderness on Margery’s tired head; and, as the first rays of the morning sun touched the luxuriant tresses of hair, making them as a ruddy, golden halo, she murmured: “Nugent will be content by and by,” and lay back, waiting till her maid or Margery should awake.
The sun was well up before Margery raised her heavily-fringed eyelids; but, once aroused, she was angry with herself for sleeping.
“My sweet Margery,” whispered Lady Enid, “my poor, tired darling!”