“You never meant!” replied a stern voice, not at all like Earl Edmund’s gentle tones. “Did you do it?”
Before Vivian could reply, to every one’s astonishment, and most of all to his, Clarice threw herself down on her knees, and deprecatingly kissed the hand which rested on the arm of her master’s chair.
“Mercy, my good Lord, I entreat you! It was a pure accident, and nothing more. I know Sir Vivian meant no more than to push the child gently out of his way. He did not calculate on the force he used. It was only an accident—he never thought of hurting her. For the sake of my dead darling, whom I know you loved, my gracious Lord, grant me mercy for her father!”
The silence was broken for a moment only by Heliet’s sobs. The Earl had covered his face with his hands. Then he looked into Clarice’s pleading eyes, with eyes in which unshed tears were glistening.
“Dame Clarice,” said Earl Edmund in his softest tone, “you wish me to grant Sir Vivian mercy?”
“I implore it of your Lordship, for His sake to whom my child is gone, and hers.”
The Earl’s eyes went to Vivian, who stood looking the picture of guilt and misery.
“You hear, Sir Vivian? You are pardoned, but not for your sake. Be it yours to repay this generous heart.”
The party dispersed in a few minutes. But when Ademar and Heliet found themselves alone, the former said—“Will he love her after this?”
“Love her!” returned Heliet. “My dear husband, thou dost not know that man. He owes his life to her generosity, and he will never forgive her for it.”