[CHAPTER XXIV.]
THE MISER SENDS FOR HIS BRIDE.
"What a nuisance!" muttered Mrs. Courtney, but she bathed Nita's face until she came to herself with a long, low sigh of deepest pain.
"I have been dreaming—oh, such a dreadful dream!" she shuddered.
"No, it was not a dream, Nita. I was telling you your guardian was alive, and you fainted—from excess of joy, I suppose," added the lady maliciously.
Nita sat up and pressed her small hand wearily to her brow. Despair made her brave.
"No, Mrs. Courtney, it was excess of sorrow," she answered frankly.
"Oh, you cruel, wicked girl!"
"Do you think so?" asked Nita, with calmness. "No matter, I was glad when I heard that he was dead. I hated him—oh, I cannot tell you how I feared and hated him."