“I have been dreaming—I thought I had told him it was impossible again—that I could not; for I loved some one else. But I do not. It was a weak girl’s fancy. Miss Burge, I should like to kiss you, dear; but it would be unkind. Touch my face—my lips with your fingers.”
“My darling, I have no fear,” sobbed the little woman; and she bent down and kissed the poor girl passionately, but only to rise in alarm, and make a sign to her brother, which he interpreted aright, and was about to rise and seek for help; but Hazel clung to his hand in alarm.
“No, no! don’t go!” she said hoarsely. “I could not bear it now.”
“I’ll run, Bill!” panted Miss Burge; but a word from Hazel stayed her.
“No; stop!” she whispered. “God knows best, Miss Burge. Lift me a little more. Let my head rest on your shoulder—so!”
William Forth Burge raised the thin, slight form tenderly and reverently, till Hazel’s head rested upon his broad shoulder, and he held her there; but she was not satisfied till he had placed her arm so that it half embraced his neck, and there she lay, gazing with her unnaturally bright, wistful eyes in his, while the great tears slowly welled over their bounds and trickled down his heavy face.
“Miss Burge,” she said again, and there was something very strange and wild in her voice, “I was weak and foolish once; but now it is too late, I have grown wiser—just at last. This is going to be my husband. In his dear memory I shall be his wife, for I love him now—with all my heart!”
She closed her eyes for a few moments, and without a sound little Miss Burge stretched out one hand to the bell, making a sign to the nurse who answered, and then glided away.
There was a long, deep silence then, broken only by a sob from Miss Burge, who now sank upon her knees by the bedside.
Hazel’s eyes opened again, and she gazed about her wildly, and as if in fear; but the restful smile came back, and she sighed as if relieved; and again there was a long silence, during which the watchers waited impatiently for the doctor’s step.