Reginald’s very lip grew white as he replied, “Was not her husband the fittest person to give Lady St. Clair such tidings?”
“Her husband, Reginald? You speak enigmas.”
“How!” gasped the young man, as he laid his cold and trembling hand on his companion’s arm. “Is not Annie Grey your wife?”
“No!” replied Lord St. Clair, the peculiar expression clouding his noble countenance for the moment passing unnoticed; “her heart was with the dead!”
Reginald De Vere struggled with bursting emotion, but his trembling limbs refused to support him; and sinking powerlessly on a sofa, he covered his face with his hands, and wept such tears as only spring from manhood’s unutterable joy.
It still wanted an hour to midnight, and Lady Emily was in vain endeavouring to prevail on Annie to retire to rest.
“You are feverish and worn out already, Annie. How will you be able to support the excitement of to-morrow without rest to-night?”
“It would be no rest if I lie down; I cannot sleep. Only let me know he lives!” and she twined her arms round Lady Emily’s neck, and looked so appealingly, so mournfully, no heart could have urged more.
There was a pause of several minutes, and then Annie started up.