But with all her prudence and forethought, Sister Angela had forgotten to mention to the young physician the fact of Beatrix's marriage. And looking at the girl so young and childish, no one would be surprised that the fact had escaped her memory. And Sister Angela never once, in her unworldliness, remembered the proneness of young men to fall in love, and that love comes when least expected, and is as speedy of growth, ofttimes, as was Jonah's gourd, and, alas! sometimes withers as soon.
Beautiful, ephemeral love! Well, without it, life would be dreary enough, and surely it is given to mortals as a foretaste of Paradise, only there love will live without "the immeasurable sadness which it too often has on earth."
Slowly Beatrix recovered. She felt no desire to live, for what was there to live for on earth? But as is so often the case when a sick person cares little for life, she grew daily stronger and better. Sister Angela was a devoted nurse, and Doctor Darrow seemed only to exist in Beatrix's presence, yet all that he knew of her history was that her name was Beatrix.
When at last she was able to sit up and amuse herself, one of the attendants brought her some magazines, wrapped in a copy of one of the daily papers—now a month old. Beatrix turned the paper over with listless fingers, and was about to lay it aside when her eyes fell upon a notice—the very advertisement which Keith had inserted. With wild, dilated eyes Beatrix read the advertisement to the end; then, with a low cry, she bowed her head upon her hands and burst into tears. There was the sound of a firm footstep; a moment later Douglas Darrow bent over her and took her wasted form in his arms.
"Beatrix, Beatrix!" he whispered, "look up and hear what I have to say. You must not shed tears, my beautiful darling! Oh, Beatrix, I love you so! Come to me, and be my wife. I can not live without you! I will shield you from all ill, and if suffering must come upon you, I will devote my life trying to alleviate your suffering. Tell me, Beatrix, will you try to care for me? I am twenty-eight years old, but I have never really loved any woman before; and I would lay down my life to call you mine. Answer me, darling; will you try to love me a little?"
[CHAPTER XXV.]
HOW THE GAME IS PLAYED.
For a moment it seemed to Beatrix that she could not have heard aright. Her brain was giddy, her breath came fluttering feebly—she looked as if she was going to swoon.