She nodded cheerfully.
“There is every reason to hope, but he must not be disturbed—not excited, that is,” she added, seeing the wan agony in Cynthia’s face.
The girl tiptoed to the side of the bed. Medenham’s eyes were closed, but he was muttering something. She bent and kissed his forehead, and a strange smile broke through the tense lines of pain. Even in his semi-conscious state he felt the touch of those exquisite lips.
“My Lady Alice!” he said.
She choked back a sob. He was dreaming of “Comus”—standing with her in the ruined banqueting hall of Ludlow Castle.
“Yes, your Lady Alice,” she breathed.
A slight quiver shook him.
“Don’t tell Cynthia,” he said brokenly. “She must never know.... Ah, if I hadn’t slipped, I would have quieted his viperish tongue.... But Cynthia must not know!”
“Oh, my dear, my dear, Cynthia does know! It is you who know not. Kind Heaven, let him live! Grant that I may tell him all that I know!”
She could not help it; the words welled forth of their own accord; but the nurse touched her arm gently.