‘God forbid,’ said Glastonbury, interrupting him.
‘Unfeeling, fickle, false, treacherous———’
‘She is an angel,’ said Glastonbury, ‘a very angel. She has fainted, and nearly in my arms.’
‘Fainted! nearly in your arms! Oh, tell me all, tell me all, Glastonbury,’ exclaimed Ferdinand, starting up in his bed with an eager voice and sparkling eyes. ‘Does she love me?’
‘I fear so,’ said Glastonbury. ‘Fear!’
‘Oh, how I pity her poor innocent heart!’ said Glastonbury.
‘When I told her of all your sufferings———’
‘Did you tell her? What then?’
‘And she herself has barely recovered from a long and terrible illness.’
‘My own Henrietta! Now I could die happy,’ said Ferdinand.