‘If you are not the heiress born,
And I,’ said he, ‘the next in blood—
“‘If you are not the heiress born,
And I,’ said he, ‘the lawful heir,
We two will wed to-morrow morn,
And you shall still be Lady Clare!’”
When Arthur Varian Dawn left his father’s room so hastily that day, it was with the firm determination to see his parents married again before the set of sun, if it could possibly be accomplished without injury to his father’s poor hold on life.
He had a brief talk with Doctor Deane, who agreed with him that the consummation of so joyful an event ought to do good to the patient, giving him new hold on life, if such a thing were possible in his precarious state.
“I do not wish to deceive you,” he said, with professional frankness. “The case is serious. I am not frightened at the scalp-wound, because it is doing nicely, and the compound fracture of the leg, below the knee, might get well in six weeks if the patient will lie in bed all that time; but there are symptoms of internal injuries that make me uneasy. If I am mistaken about that, he may pull through.”
“God grant it!” cried Arthur, fervently.