“Is at her old home at last,” said the earl, in a constrained voice. “We carried her down and laid her in the old churchyard. She always wished to be buried there.”
“I must go down and see the grave,” murmured Margery.
“When you are able, you shall, my darling. Court Manor is waiting for its mistress. Ah, Margery, little did I think years ago that I should so gladly return to my home, all pain and bitterness rooted out of my heart forever, and in their place the sweet fragrance of love and happiness, brought me by a spirit of peace and purity—my wife!”
Margery moved her head restlessly on the silken pillow; his deep tenderness and devotion touched her wounded heart with healing gentleness, yet her burden was none the less, for she could never repay such great love, she could never give him what he gave her. Her pride had suffered such humiliation beneath the cold cruelty of Vane Charteris’ tongue that her heart might have thrilled now with satisfaction in the knowledge that she was—in the world’s eyes—a great person—Countess of Court, a peeress of the realm. But there was no pride in her heart. Her husband’s tender words only brought back with a sudden rush the memory of the great chasm between them. She drew her hand slowly from his, with the touch of his lips still clinging to it.
“You know,” she whispered, meeting his gaze with her great starlike eyes—“you know—Enid told you that I am quite alone in the world—a waif, a stray?”
“Yes, I know it, my darling.”
“And you care for me just the same?”
“I love you,” he answered, smiling; “I loved you from the very first. Yes, Enid told me your sad story, and it only binds you still closer to me; henceforth I must be mother, father, brother, sister, husband, all in one. Do not hold a thought in your heart that such a circumstance could make any difference. Remember—
“‘For unto every lord his own lady is
All ladies and all beauties and all mysteries,