Chance and a woman's instinct had done the trick. As by a miracle the hopeless had come to pass. The helm had been put hard over, and the craft had answered as sweetly as any swish-tailed circus nag. Gramarye and all her works, if not forgotten, had in the twinkling of an eye become the fabric of a dream—mere relics of a fantastic age for a sane mind to marvel at.
For two or three days after the momentous interview Anthony said very little. When he had again seen Lady Touchstone, and the two—blind leading the blind—had satisfactorily fixed the very date of his collapse, George Alison was sent for. Carefully schooled, the latter spent a fruitful five minutes by the sick man's side. Upon the third day came Valerie….
The girl was exalted. Gratitude had set the crown upon the glory of her array. No one had ever seen her look so beautiful. Out of the furnace the fine gold had come refined, dazzling.
My gross pen cannot picture her.
The dark lustre of her hair, the exquisite curve of her lips, her pride of carriage, were things for sonnets. Her small firm hands, the white column of her neck, the colour springing in her cheeks, made three sweet wonders. The style of her was superb. Tall, straight, clean-limbed, her figure remembered graces of a younger age. The simple flowered-silk dress looked as though all who put it on must go in elegance. Silk and satin covered her precious feet. A nosegay of violets, brooched to her gown, echoed the hue, but not the magic of her eyes. Had the poor flowers been blowing still upon their mother bank, all wet with dew, and had a star stooped to prove how sweet they smelled, then, sirs, they should have rendered more faithfully my lady's eyes.
Anthony had wondered when she would come….
A breath of perfume, a swift whisper, the rustle of silk—and there was
Valerie by his side.
"Oh, Valerie!"
Miss French fell upon her knees.
Very gently Lyveden put her hand to his lips. Then he turned away his head and began to cry.