“Ha, ha!” chuckled the patient hoarsely; “you are right, there. Disgrace upon that insolent Sir Richard, and on that ungrateful puppy, Master Walter.”
“True,” continued the doctor gravely; “and upon Miss Letty, who is dear to all who know her, but dearest to the poor and friendless.”
“I am sorry for her,” said Derrick; “but I am not sorry for my Lady—she that could look me in the face, and hear me tell the story of our early love, and of her own supposed death, to avert which I so gladly risked my life, and all without a touch of pity.”
“No, sir, with much pity,” broke forth Mistress Forest. “I myself know that her heart bled for you. She never loved Sir Robert as she did you, ungrateful man! She loved you dead and alive; she loves you now, although you pursue her with such cruel hate, and would bring shame upon all her innocent children.”
“Ay, why not?” answered Ralph. “Have they not had their day, and is it not my turn at last? Who is the woman behind the curtains? Let her stand forth, that I may see her; she, at least, is not a creature of 'my Lady,' like you and the doctor here, and ready, for her sake, to hide the truth and perpetuate my wrongs. Let that woman stand forth, I say.”
CHAPTER XIII. DYING WORDS.
THUS adjured, Madame de Castellan stepped forward to the same position which Mary Forest had occupied at the foot of the bed: nowhere else could Ralph see her, for he was on his back just as they had first laid him, and could not turn his face a hairbreadth to left or right.
“Who are you?” asked he bluntly. “I do not remember having seen your face at Mirk.”