THE POWER BEHIND THE THRONE
Lady Randolph was awaiting Mark in the pretty drawing-room overlooking the river.
"Nothing can save her," she whispered. "She is alive because she could not die without seeing you. What is left is yours. You understand. Archibald has been generous."
"Archibald has his son," Mark said hoarsely.
"She was not herself till last night, when the fever burnt itself out. But, Mark, always, always she raved of you. Husband and child were never mentioned. It was terrible for him—poor fellow—terrible!"
Mark followed her upstairs.
Betty lay in bed, the light from the windows, which were opened wide, streaming upon her emaciated face. A clean, sweet perfume of violets filled the air, and whatever might have indicated a long and terrible illness had been removed.
She met his glance with a strange smile, as he stumbled forward, falling on his knees at the bedside, saying nothing, but kissing the hand lying limp upon the coverlet. Betty spoke first:
"Mark, Mark, Archie has forgiven you."
Mark said nothing. His brother's forgiveness came upon him at this moment as a meaningless blow on the cheek. What did he care for Archie's forgiveness? But he understood instantly what it meant to Betty. It explained the smile with which she greeted him. The question in her eyes slowly burnt its way to his heart.