Sir Douglas closed his long fingers over hers, and drew her nearer and nearer, till she bent over him.
“Closer,” he murmured. “Yes—I—can see—it is! Heaven is—good! You are——”
His strength seemed to fail entirely. Margery bent still nearer as he sunk back upon the cushion, and her heart-shaped locket escaped and dangled against his withered hand.
“He is fainting!” she said, hurriedly. “Look how pale he is!”
His eyes opened as he spoke, and wandered from her face to the little gold locket. A spasm of pain caused his mouth to twitch; his breath came in gasps; he tried to open the locket, and his eyes spoke words that his lips refused to utter. Then, as the earl drew Margery back, the lids closed over them, and the face became calm.
“It is only a faint. Come away, my darling! I wish I had not brought you; but he was almost well this morning.”
Margery suffered her husband to lead her into the other room and place her in a chair. Her nerves were unstrung, and she was full of vague, incomprehensible excitement.
“Go back to him,” she murmured. “I am quite well. I cannot leave till I know that he is better. Poor man! How strange he looked!”
The earl obeyed her; and, when she was alone, Margery put her hands over her eyes and tried to think what the memory was the sick man had brought back to her.
“Is he better?” asked Lord Court, on his return to Sir Douglas’ side. “It was only a faint, Murray?”