On the stairs she looked up through her tears at Lady Russell.
“I understand you now,” she said, deeply moved; “I felt his greatness—he is a king! But, oh, will he be merciful? Will he spare my poor husband?”
Lady Russell could not answer; she turned her face aside. She felt that the king had given them so little hope, that his answer had been enigmatical. She took Betty’s hand again, but neither of them could speak; and in silence they went home to the house in Bloomsbury.
CHAPTER XXXIII
DONOUGH!
THE night of suspense—longer than a year of happiness—wore to an end, because all things end. At noon Lady Betty stood in Lady Russell’s drawing-room, leaning against the window and looking out, so wan and wasted that her hostess started at the sight of her as she entered. The two women greeted each other with an affection born of sympathy, in spite of their brief acquaintance, and as they stood there with clasped hands, they heard the clatter of hoofs in the street below, a noise at the door, steps on the stair.
Betty uttered a cry and stood rigid; it had come, good or ill! The door was flung open and Devonshire’s messenger, plashed with mire from hard riding, bowed at the threshold, holding up a letter.
“From his grace to Lady Russell,” he said.