“Give me the support of your arm into the next room—there is no one there.”
“My child, you are not well!” said Mark, looking at her now with painful anxiety, as he drew her hand through his arm.
“I am not good, you ought to say. I have not been good! I have been a coward! I have not been your friend, Mark! I have been a traitor.”
“A traitor! Rosalie, you rave!”
“I ought to have told you any time this month past; but I could not bear to do it. And now it is scarcely any use at all; it is a mockery to tell you. But yet, indeed, I could not bear to see you standing there, so gay and unsuspicious. I could not bear to think how you would lose your self-command in her presence. No, I could not endure the thought, Mark!” she said, more and more incoherently.
“Rosalie, you are very nervous; you have over-excited yourself about this wedding. Come, let me get you something,” said Mark, drawing her gently through the crowd.
As they passed, the buzz of conversation increased very much, and “They are coming;” “The bride is coming;” “There she is;” “Hush,” &c., were the sounds that heralded the entrance of the bridal party, just as Mark Sutherland led Rosalie Vivian into the next room. He took her to a sofa, seated her, handed her a glass of water; but she waved it aside, saying, “I do not need it—I do not need it! It is you who need strength and calmness now. O, Mark! I wish you had left the house when I advised you to leave it!” she exclaimed, her agitation becoming momentarily greater. At last, forcing herself to speak again, she asked: “Mr. Sutherland! Mark! Do you know the name of the lady whom St. Gerald Ashley has married?”
“Certainly,” said Mark Sutherland, raising his eyebrows in an interrogative manner.
“You do!” exclaimed Rosalie, greatly surprised—excited.
“Certainly I do! How could I possibly remain in ignorance of it?”