Still confused by the discovery that his old friend "Drake Vernon" was Lord Angleford, Dick could only let him go in silence, and Drake passed out.
As he did so, he looked up at the window of the sick room. A shadow passed the blind, and as he recognized it he sighed heavily. Yes; notwithstanding his wound and his peril, the penniless musician was the lucky man, and he, my Lord of Angleford, the most unfortunate and unhappy.
Slowly he made his way toward the house, and as he went the face and the voice of the woman he loved haunted him. For a moment she had rested in his arms, and he could still feel her head on his breast, still hear the "Drake, Drake!"
She had not forgotten him, then; she still remembered him with some kindness, though she loved Falconer? Well, he should be grateful for that. It would be good to think of all through the weary years that lay before him.
How beautiful she was! With what an exquisite tenderness her eyes had dwelt upon the wounded man! He started, and almost groaned, as he remembered that not so long ago those eyes had beamed love and tenderness upon himself.
"Oh, Nell, Nell!" broke from him unconsciously. "Oh, my dear, lost love! how shall I live without you, now that I have seen you, held you in my arms again?"
The great house loomed before him; the hall door was open; figures were standing and flitting in the light that streamed on the terrace; and with a pang he awoke to the responsibilities of his position, to the remembrance of his interview with Luce. There she stood on the top of the steps, a shawl thrown round her head, her face eager and anxious.
"Drake! Is it you?" she exclaimed; and she came down the steps to meet him, her hand outstretched.
The others crowded round, all talking at once. He shook her hand, held it a moment, then let it drop.
"He is all right, I hope," he said.