So the earl chatted on, eager to rouse Margery from the dreams into which she had fallen; and with a glance at Stuart, he adroitly turned the conversation and plunged into other topics.
Margery sat silent. She could not eat—her brain was in a whirl; and at last she could bear her distress no longer, and with a murmured apology she went slowly to the door.
“Yes, rest, my darling,” said Lord Court, as he followed her; “this news has been too much for you. But, before you go, tell your cousin that if he departs, it will be at the risk of your grave displeasure.”
Stuart had risen, and their eyes met.
“You will stay,” she said, faintly; and then the door closed, and she was gone.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Should he go or stay? was the burning question in Stuart’s mind all that morning. Duty and honor bade him tear himself away; yet there was something mysterious and altogether apart from the inthrallment of Margery’s presence that kept him. He spent the long hours walking about the grounds with the earl, forcing himself to discuss the all-important subject of Margery’s birth the while he was growing faint and weary with the struggle that raged within him.
The surprise, the sleepless night, the agitation at last began to tell; and, as the afternoon advanced, Stuart was obliged to confess that he was quite exhausted and could walk no farther.
The earl was full of contrition for his thoughtlessness.
“Come back to the house. Would you prefer to go to your own room? If not, rest in my ‘den.’ I can answer for its silence and coziness.”