The night passed away, and morning dawned, and with the first streak in the east Lottie awoke.
That she was no longer delirious was evident by her eyes, but she turned pale and started, as they fell upon Margaret.
"It was no dream, then!" she said, in a low voice, covering her face with her hands. "It was really you who sat beside me?"
"Yes, it was I," said Margaret, sadly and shyly, for it Came flashing upon her that this woman, after all, was Blair's wife. "I am glad you are better. I will go now," and she rose, a little stiffly.
Lottie put out her hand.
"No—stay," she said, with a frightened, nervous glance. "I—I have something to tell you! Oh, if I only knew how! Don't be angry with me more than you can help. Punish me if you like, but don't say much to me. I've done the cruellest thing that ever one woman did to another, and I deserve to be shot——" At the word she started up, and flung out her arms. "What is the time? is it morning? Not morning! Do not tell me that! Oh, great Heaven, how long have I been lying here? Oh, too late, too late!" and she rocked herself to and fro.
"Why are you too late, and for what?"
"To save him! To save Blair! Didn't I tell you? It seems to me that I have been raving about it for hours! He and the Prince Rivani are to fight this morning. This morning! It is light now!"
"Blair—Lord Leyton; your—your husband!" said Margaret, holding on to the bed to support herself.
"My husband!" Lottie almost shrieked; then she laughed wildly and hysterically. "No! not my husband, but yours!"