When Drusilla was sure of this mishap, she took off her bonnet, drew the hood of her waterproof cloak over her head, and set forth to walk the distance to Old Lyon Hall.
Of that heroic effort, and of its successful issue—her safe arrival—the reader is already informed.
CHAPTER XLVI.
THE DESPERATE REMEDY.
Let that pass, too. There breathes not one,
Who would not do as I have done.—Byron.
The bride elect listened to the words of the forsaken wife, first in surprise and incredulity, then in pity and indignation, and last in a rapture of relief, ineffable and indescribable, and only to be equalled by the ecstacy a condemned criminal must feel when at the last moment before execution he receives a full pardon.
When all was told, Drusilla sat pale and despairing. Anna flushed and resolute.
“Not for myself,” said the poor young wife, “not for myself, Heaven knows, and not for you, but for his sake have I done this thing—to save him from doing, in his madness, a deed that the law might construe into a crime and punish with degradation. But oh, Miss Lyon, forgive me if in coming here I have brought you much sorrow!”
“Hush! you have brought me no sorrow, but a great deliverance,” said Anna with a sigh of infinite relief.
“Then you never loved him—as I do!” exclaimed Drusilla, raising her large eyes, full of questioning wonder to the face of Anna.