Margery put her lips to his—their coldness filled her with dread. A sigh came from the earl’s injured breast, his eyes closed.
“Nugent, I promise!” she murmured, wildly. “But you will not go—you will not leave me! I want you! You must stay! Nugent, open your eyes—speak to me—husband!”
She bent over him again, and as she did so a gentle hand was placed on her shoulder, and she was raised from her knees. She saw the still, pallid face, calm and passive in the sunlight; then a great blackness came over her, and she knew no more.
CHAPTER XXX.
“Margery, the sea is beautiful to-day. Come out, child; it will do you good.”
Miss Lawson spoke in her old abrupt, almost stern way; but she experienced deep, heartfelt pain as she looked at the slight form in its heavy mourning-robe, and at the girlish, beautiful face beneath the widow’s cap.
Margery raised her eyes from her writing.
“I do not care for it, dear,” she answered, gently; “and I must finish these letters for the post. Remember, Wavemouth is not London; we do not go by steam down here.”
“Your letters can wait,” said Miss Lawson. “They are not of such consequence as your health.”
“My tenants at Beecham do not say that,” returned Lady Court, with a faint smile; “but, if you wish it very——”