She turned to go, so haggard and wild-looking, that neither strove to detain her. The young man stared blankly after her as she left the room.
"At last!" he said, drawing a deep breath, "at last I shall know!"
There was a pause; then May spoke in a fluttering little voice.
"How very strange that Mrs. Weymore should know, of all persons in the world!"
"Who is Mrs. Weymore? How long has she been here? Tell me all you know of her, Miss Everard."
"And that 'all' will be almost nothing. She came down from London as nursery-governess to Rupert and me, a week or two after my arrival here, selected by the rector of St. Gosport. She was then what you see her now, a pale, subdued creature in widow weeds, with the look of one who had seen trouble. I have known her so long, and always as such a white, still shadow, I suppose that is why it seems so odd."
Mrs. Weymore kept altogether out of Mr. Legard's way for the next week or two. She avoided May also, as much as possible, and shrunk so palpably from any allusion to the past scene, that May good-naturedly bided her time in silence, though almost as impatient as Mr. Legard himself.
And whilst they waited the bridal-eve came round, and Lady Thetford was much better, not able to quit her room, but strong enough to lie on a sofa and talk to her son and Colonel Jocyln, with a flush on her cheek, and a sparkle in her eye—all unusual there.
The marriage was to take place in the village church, and there was to follow a grand ceremonial wedding-breakfast; and then the happy pair were to start at once on their blissful bridal-tour.
"And I hope to see my boy return," Lady Thetford said, kissing him fondly. "I can hardly ask for more than that."