But slowly the paroxysm passed, and he felt loving fingers caressing his hair, and whispering words of comfort. “Michael,” she said, as he drew himself up, exhausted. “It must have been my mother who gave you the letter, part of a long, bitter plot against Lord Purceville. She needed my help, and wanted you out of the way. Please forgive her. She harbored such hatred against him, that it made her blind to all else..... But that is in the past.” She tried to smile, as he nodded his understanding. “You know,” she said. “I have a few questions for you, too.”
He put a finger to her lips. “Soon, but not now. Let us have what remains of this night, at least, free from sorrow and danger. Let us have each other.”
At that moment there came a light knocking at the door, and Anne Scott entered the room. Her face was so softened, and beaming with such reborn faith that Mary hardly recognized it. Her unbound hair formed a loop of pale gold upon the shoulder of the nightdress, and she looked years younger than either could remember seeing her.
“Is everything all right?” she asked, as if this were not her home, but theirs. “If my son will give a doting mother one last embrace, I will leave the two of you in peace. I fancy I’ll sleep in Mary’s room tonight, and give up my chambers to you.”
“Truly, Anne? Would it be all right?”
“Listen to me, Mary. God married the two of you long ago. And in this moment I’m so happy, so grateful.....” She faltered, and her eyes glistened. “My son is given back to me, whom I thought to be dead. Do you think I can’t share him, this one night, with the woman he loves, and the girl I raised up from a child? Please, Michael, before I make a fool of myself. Kiss me, then send me off to bed.”
He rose, but not more quickly than she. Mary embraced her first, like a schoolgirl, then stood aside as mother and son said their affectionate good-night.
“In the morning hard choices await us,” said the woman, addressing them both. “But for now, let us thank God. Let us thank Him.” She was blinded by tears, and turned away. Michael watched her go, then closed the door softly behind her.
“In the morning I shall have to give her sad news,” said the girl, remembering her purpose. “And perhaps it will grieve you as well.”
“What is it, Mary?” And despite his own assurances, he felt that he must know. “Tell me now, and let us have done with dark surprises.”