"Let her come in, I will see her."
The man disappeared; there was an instant's pause, then a tall, slender figure, draped and veiled in black, entered alone.
The visitor stood still. Once more the invalid attempted to rise, once more his strength failed him. The lady threw back her veil with a sudden emotion.
"My God, Aileen!"
"Rupert!"
She was on her knees before him, lifting her suppliant hands.
"Forgive me! forgive me! I have seemed the most heartless and cruel of women. But I too, have suffered. I am base and unworthy; but, oh! forgive me, if you can."
The old love, stronger then death, shone in her eyes, plead in her passionate, sobbing voice, and went to his very heart.
"I have been so wretched, so wretched all these miserable years. While my father lived, I would not disobey his stern command, that I was never to attempt to see or hear from you, and at his death I could not. You seemed lost to me and to the world. Only by the merest accident I heard in Venice you were here, and ill—dying. I lost no time; I came hither at once, hoping against hope to find you alive. Thank God I did come. O Rupert! for the sake of the past forgive me."