"The Lady St. Maurice! She was my mother's friend then?"
"Yes."
Margharita's eyes were bright, and her voice trembled.
"Listen!" she cried. "When my mother was dying she gave me a letter. If ever you need a friend or help," she whispered, "go to Lady St. Maurice. This letter is to her. She will help you for my sake. Uncle, fate is on our side. Just before I came to you I wrote to Lady St. Maurice. I told her that I was unhappy in my life, and I wished for a situation as a governess. I sent her my mother's letter."
"And she replied?"
"Yes. She offered me a home. If I wished I could teach her little girl."
Her voice was trembling, and her eyes, dry and brilliant, were fixed upon his. He was sitting upright in bed, leaning a little forward toward her, and the sunbeam which had stolen in through the parted curtains fell upon his white corpse-like face. A strange look was in his eyes; his fingers clutched the bedclothes nervously.
"You will—go?" he asked hoarsely. "You will go to Lady St. Maurice?"
An answering light shot back from her eyes. She was suddenly pale to the lips. Her voice was hushed as though in fear, but it was firm.
"Yes, I shall go. To-night I shall accept her offer."