“We do not know what Margery’s birth may be; but that does not affect me. I love her; she shall be my wife. Ah, you do not know her, Cousin Vane, or you would not have said that! There may be some mystery connected with her birth; but there is no stain on her. If ever there was a lady, she is one.”
“Your news has surprised me, Stuart, I must confess,” observed Miss Charteris, moving languidly from his side and sinking into her chair again; “but I shall prove my words. I am your friend—I will act as such. Yes; I will help you.”
Stuart’s face flushed, and he leaned forward and bent his lips to Vane’s white hand.
“This is, indeed, good of you!” he exclaimed. “Vane, I can never thank you enough.”
“Tell me what I must do,” returned Miss Charteris, unfurling her fan again.
“Will you see Margery?” inquired Stuart, hurriedly.
“To-day?” asked Vane.
“Yes. Ah, Vane, think—four days have gone, she has had a great sorrow, and I have been tied to my bed, not able to see her, not even to write her a word! If you would go to her, tell her all is going well, that you will be her friend, you will make me so happy.”
“I will go, Stuart,” Vane said, quietly; “for your sake I will do all I can. No; do not thank me. Remember what I said just now—I would do anything for you. I will wait till it is a little cooler, then borrow Aunt Constance’s ponies, and drive to the village.” She hesitated. “Perhaps—perhaps Miss Daw may not like me?”
“Not like you!” cried Stuart, quickly. “She cannot help herself. Dear Vane, how good you are! You do not know what a load you have taken off my mind. I dreaded, I feared that my poor darling would have been without a friend. Now she is secure. My mother loves you, and will be led by you. I shall speak to her the instant she returns, and then Margery can come here. Vane, I shall never, never forget your kindness!”