"Come," she said to Edward Arundel, looking back as she stood upon the threshold of Mr. Jobson's door; "and you too," she added, turning to Major Lawford,—"follow us, and see whether I am MAD."
She passed through the shop, and into that prim, smart parlour in which
Edward Arundel had lamented his lost wife.
The latticed windows were wide open, and the warm summer sunshine filled the room.
A girl, with loose tresses of hazel-brown hair falling about her face, was sitting on the floor, looking down at a beautiful fair-haired nursling of a twelvemonth old.
The girl was John Marchmont's daughter; the child was Edward Arundel's son. It was his childish cry that the young man had heard upon that October night in the pavilion by the water.
"Mary Arundel," said Olivia, in a hard voice, "I give you back your husband."
The young mother got up from the ground with a low cry, tottered forward, and fell into her husband's arms.
"They told me you were dead! They made me believe that you were dead!" she said, and then fainted on the young man's breast. Edward carried her to a sofa and laid her down, white and senseless; and then knelt down beside her, crying over her, and sobbing out inarticulate thanksgiving to the God who had given his lost wife back to him.
"Poor sweet lamb!" murmured Hester Jobson; "she's as weak as a baby; and she's gone through so much a'ready this morning."
It was some time before Edward Arundel raised his head from the pillow upon which his wife's pale face lay, half hidden amid the tangled hair. But when he did look up, he turned to Major Lawford and stretched out his hand.