"He has told me all," he moaned, "and I—Oh, I can not speak of it now!"
"But, Keith,"—her voice full of triumph which she can not restrain—"you should be glad that you found it out in time to prevent future sorrow to you both."
His eyes rested upon the woman's hard, cold face, and he covered his own with his hands.
"You are mistaken," he said in a voice which did not sound like his own, "the warning came too late. Beatrix and I were married yesterday, Serena; she is my own dear wife."
[CHAPTER XXII.]
SISTER ANGELA.
The moments came and went, and still that slight figure lay upon the hospital steps, the small face as white and rigid as though she were dead. It was very early, and the old physician in charge had not yet made his appearance at the hospital, and the wretched inmates dared not venture forth into the street where Beatrix Dane had fallen in that death-like swoon.