"Is she really ill, Mattie? Is it some terrible fever—some terrible plague? Never mind—I will go and kiss it from her lips; I must be with her."
The poor lady wrung her hands in a paroxysm of despair; her face quivered with grief. Mattie tried all that was possible to console her. What could she do? It was the heartbroken cry of a mother for a child; but she could not tell.
"We must be patient, dear lady," she said, "and wait until Lord Linleigh sends or comes."
She persuaded the countess to lie on the couch. She complied, trembling, weeping.
"You must be hiding something from me," she said. "She was to have been married this morning. Oh, Mattie, tell me what it is?"
Mattie Brace passed through many hours of sorrow and sadness, but none so dark as that which she spent shut up with Lady Linleigh. She could hear the sound of hurried footsteps. Once or twice she heard a cry of fear or dismay. She heard the rapid galloping of horses, and she knew that they were gone in search of the doer of the deed. Yet all that time she had to sit with assumed calm by the side of Lady Estelle. No one came near them. The silence of death seemed to reign over that part of the house; while from Mattie's heart, if not from her lips, went every minute the prayer:
"Heaven save Earle!"
What had passed was like a terrible dream to all those who shared in it. Lord Linleigh had gone in search of Earle. He found him busied in his preparations; happy and light of heart, as he was never to be again. He turned with a musical laugh to the earl.
"We have just ten minutes," he said. "I hope Doris is ready."
Then the smile died on his lips, for he caught one glimpse of the white face and terrified eyes. With one bound he had cleared the distance between them, and stood impatiently clutching Lord Linleigh's arm.