The sight of her white, deathlike face startled her.
“I—I look as if I were going to die,” she said, dully. “Oh, if it were but true! If I could die now—now!” and a spasm convulsed her face.
“Hush, hush, dear, dear mistress!” implored Bessie. “Wait; there’s a little time left still. Wait till they send for us.”
She flung on her own jacket and hat, and then, going on her knees beside Olivia, put her arm round her.
“Forgive me, miss,” she whispered, “but I love you, and my heart bleeds——”
For answer, Olivia laid her cold face against the girl’s faithful one and let it rest there.
The time was up; the guests had gathered in the hall with the customary slippers and handfuls of rice. The bride and bridegroom’s carriage was at the door.
Pacing to and fro in the study was the old man who was now to lose his darling, only child, the pride, the joy, the solace of his life.
He, too, had borne up well throughout the trying day; but he was feeling that his strength to command himself was growing weaker; and he waited, longing, dreading, for the moment of farewell.
The best man hurried to and fro, glancing at his watch anxiously.