November was half through, when late one night a boy came to the villa, asking a servant to let him see the mistress. Gertrude sat alone in her chamber, having removed her dress, and wrapped herself in a rich cashmere robe. She directed the servant, in an indifferent tone, to send the boy to her door.
He addressed her in Italian; "I was to give you this," putting a soiled paper in her hand.
She took it in the ends of her fingers, went toward the light, supposing it to be an application for alms; but no sooner did her eye fall on the signature, than her whole being seemed changed.
She rang the bell repeatedly, sending one servant to her brother's room to ask him to come to her immediately; another, she directed to call a carriage, while a third was despatched for all the luxuries the house could afford.
Then locking the door of her room she threw herself on her knees.
"My God, I thank thee," she murmured. "Give me this soul in answer to my earnest prayers. Help me to forgive my poor, erring husband, even as my Saviour has forgiven me."
A knock at the door interrupted her, and presently she put the paper into Edward's hands.
"Read that," she exclaimed. "Read it and come with me to the bed of a dying man."
She was fearfully excited, more than he had ever seen her. He put his hand on her shoulder saying, firmly:
"Gertrude, you must be more calm. I will not allow you to go, until you promise to control yourself."