“Yes, yes, yes! Oh, Mon Dieu! why?”
“Did she wear a cross upon her neck bearing the initials ‘M. I. L.?’” wildly broke in Marguerite. “A little gold cross with these letters, which was mine when I was a girl, and stood for Marguerite Isabella Landry, my maiden name, was round her neck. Oh, madam! in heaven’s name, do you know anything of my child?”
“I do! I do! I found her, I brought her up as my own and she lives with me now. Just Heaven! how mysterious are thy ways!” exclaimed the awe-struck Lady Maude.
There was a wild cry, and the woman, Marguerite, fell fainting on the floor.
Ray bore her away in his arms, and Pet hastened out to attend her. At the same moment a change came over the face of the gipsy’s son—a dark shadow from an invisible wing—the herald of coming death.
Both held their breath. Great throes shook the strong form before them, and the deathdew stood in great drops on his brow. Lady Maude wiped them off, pale with awe.
The mighty death agony ceased at last and there came a great calm. He opened his eyes and fixed them, with a look of unspeakable love, on the face bending over him.
“Maude,” he whispered, in a voice so low that it was scarcely audible, “say once more you forgive me.”
She took his cold hand in both hers, and bending down, touched her lips to his pale brow, while her tears fell fast on his face.
The hand she held grew stiff in her clasp; she lifted up her head and her heart for an instant, almost ceased to beat. Reginald Germaine, the wronged, the guilty, was dead!