At length the striking of a distant clock was faintly heard. As the last stroke of six died away, Annella started up, threw her arms around Eudora, strained her to her bosom, pressed a kiss upon her forehead, and murmured, in a fainting voice:
“Mr. Montrose will be here in a moment; I will not stay to disturb your interview. Good-bye—Good-bye!” and hurried from the cell.
Even this failed to disturb the almost supernatural calmness of Eudora, and saying merely: “I will rest now,” she lay down upon the outside of the cot.
Mrs. Barton occupied her usual seat in the corner of the cell.
A few moments passed, and then steps were heard approaching. The door was opened, and Malcolm Montrose, ushered in by the governor, who immediately retreated, entered the cell. Malcolm’s face was fearfully pale, and bore all the signs of extreme mental anguish. It was evident that he put a severe restraint upon himself, and exhibited a merely external fortitude that might at any moment give way.
She, too, though now so calm, was so wasted, wan, and deadly fair, that she seemed more like a spirit of the air than a maiden of mortal mould.
As she approached, she held out one thin, blue, pale, transparent hand, and taking his, drew him towards her.
They looked into each other’s faces intently for a moment with unspeakable love and grief, and then his fortitude utterly failed him, and he dropped upon his knees by her side, buried his face in his hands, and bursting into sobs, wept such bitter tears as are only pressed, like drops of life-blood, from the mighty heart of man by the extremity of anguish.
A spasm of agony passed over Eudora’s still face. She who had ceased to feel for herself suffered acutely for him. With a supreme effort she controlled her rising emotions, and, but for the fluttering of the muscles in her transparent throat, and the quivering of her blue lips, she seemed calm as before.
She put her arm around his bowed head, drew it upon her bosom, and held it gently there while she murmured: