Beatrix started at the sound of that familiar name. But the sufferer had wandered away again into wild and incoherent delirium, and Beatrix could gain no information from the words which passed her lips. But still some strange influence drew her as often as possible to the ward where Celia Ray lay, growing gradually worse and weaker, until it became evident that she had not long to live. But there was something upon her mind. She tossed and turned in the fever and delirium, moaning and muttering broken fragments of a strange story, over and over, but so brokenly and fragmentary that Beatrix and Doctor Darrow could make nothing of her raving.
In the meantime, Keith was recovering slowly but surely. And now the hour had come when Beatrix knew that she must have a talk with him, and go through the anguish of parting once more. Doctor Darrow had listened to Beatrix's announcement that the injured man was her husband, and his noble heart, though crushed with its sorrow and loneliness, did not shrink from the task before him. He had devoted himself to Keith Kenyon as much as he possibly could, and to the earnest labors of the young physician, as well as Beatrix's tender care, Keith Kenyon owed his return to health. The time came when Beatrix, standing at his bedside, listened to Keith's pleading words—words which broke her heart afresh.
"You shall not leave me, my darling!" the young man cried, passionately. "My wife, my wife, I need you! You must not separate us in this dreadful way, this death in life. It is worse than though death itself had intervened to tear us apart. Beatrix, look up, my beautiful darling, and say that you will give up this mad separation. It has not been proven that you are really—that you—that the disease is even in your system. Such things have been heard of before. For two or three generations a curse like that may lie dormant and then suddenly appear, just when it had come to be believed that it had been eradicated. It may never show itself in your life-time, my darling, and in any case you are my wife, and I claim you. Come, Beatrix!"
"I can not, I must not! Keith, Keith, don't you know that you are holding open the very gates of Heaven to me, and yet I can not, dare not, enter? Don't you know that I would rather lay down my life today than be the cause of possible danger to you? Oh, my husband, so dear to me, don't tempt me, don't tempt me, or you will break my heart anew. For I can not, dare not, consent."
He bowed his head upon his hands and a storm of sobs shook his frame, sobs which choked his voice and made speech impossible. Beatrix laid her hand upon his head. It was to her the very bitterest of anguish to stand at his side and not dare to let her lips meet his in a sweet, clinging kiss of love; and she had not ventured to kiss his lips since that awful shock had come crashing down upon her like an avalanche—the discovery of the awful shadow upon her life, her dark inheritance.
She turned away pale and trembling. After a time she crept back to him and laid her hand upon his arm.
"Keith, my own, my precious husband!" she whispered, "this is more bitter to us than death—this parting—but it must be. And so, since we know that there is no hope for us—that we must be parted anyway—would it not be better for you, for your future—I have none, you know—to place the matter in the hands of the law, to appeal to the courts for your freedom? I am certain the fact of my being what I am, will be sufficient to free you. Oh, Keith, Keith! I can not be a blight upon you forever! You must be free from me, and hold up your head once more among your fellowmen. And once free, you will some time in the future, dearest, meet some one else—"
"Stop! For God's sake, stop! How can you speak such words to me?" he groaned, desperately. "Beatrix, you are my wife; whether we live as husband and wife, or are forever separated here upon earth, does not matter. You are mine and I am yours; no one can alter that. And whether we live apart or anear, I shall always be your husband—yours alone—until death shall part us. You remember the solemn marriage service, Beatrix, and the vows we took before God's holy altar? Never mention the divorce court to me again, my beautiful love—it is sacrilege—that can never be. Now, Beatrix, try to cheer up and hope for the best. Your case may not be hopeless, you know, and anyway—no matter what happens—even though the very worst, remember that I love you and you alone, and I shall love you till I die. Ah, there comes Doctor Darrow! I believe that I will tell him all our sad story, my Beatrix, and ask his advice and opinion. He has been so very kind to me; and to his skill, as much as your splendid nursing, I owe my restoration to health. For I shall soon be well now; I am sure of it. I am getting stronger and better every day. Ah, Doctor—"
Keith paused as the young physician drew near, his face quite pale and grave, in his eyes a look of something like suppressed excitement.