She forgave Laurel now for all that she had done. It was easy to forgive her now, when she lay so ill—perhaps dying. She and Beatrix vied with each other in the care of the invalid. They would not trust her wholly to the care of a hired nurse. Her life was too precious. Laurence and Trixy were left to the care of the nurses, and Beatrix gave all her care and thought to the invalid.
"I cannot do too much for her," said gentle Beatrix. "She was like an angel to me."
The day came at last when her patience and fidelity were rewarded. Laurel opened her eyes and looked up with the light of reason shining in her face. The crisis of her terrible delirium was past. She would recover.
She looked at Beatrix, and a faint flush stole into her pale face.
"Have I told all in my delirium?" she asked.
"You have told nothing. All your ravings have been of your books and of your child," Beatrix answered, gently.
A look of anxiety stole into the hollow, dark eyes.
"My little Laurie?" she said, wistfully.
"He is well and happy. He has been well cared for," answered Beatrix. "But I must not bring him to you yet; you are not strong enough. Can you wait?"
"Yes, I can wait," Laurel answered, patiently. Then she laid her thin, white hand on Beatrix's arm. "Can you forgive me?" she said. "I have been hard and proud and wicked. I have willfully deceived you; I am really Laurel Vane."