“How dare you enter this room at such an hour?” demanded the woman in attendance, who, after the first shock had passed, quickly recovered herself and was now prepared to do battle.
“We will have no words upon the subject just now, if you please—it is one that will keep, for awhile, at least; get restoratives and revive this fainting girl without delay,” Earle commanded, in quiet though stern tones, and then bent anxiously over his unconscious loved one.
The woman, cowed by his authoritative manner, proceeded to attend Editha at once, although it was with a face nearly as white as the waxen one upon the pillow. With a sinking heart Earle stood by jealously watching her every movement.
Editha, his darling, his promised wife, lay there looking more like a beautiful piece of sculpture than like a human being who would ever breathe or speak again, and a great fear took possession of him that she never would recover. But the woman was evidently a good nurse, and, under the influence of the restoratives she was using, Editha soon gave signs of returning life.
When she at last opened her eyes, Earle was sitting by her side, and smiled upon her as she looked at him, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be there.
Yet he actually held his breath, fearing that the shock of his presence might make her swoon again.
“Earle!” she breathed, a look of awe stealing over her countenance.
The look told him that for the moment she believed herself dead, and to have met him in another world.
“Yes, my darling, Earle, and no one else,” he said, softly, bending down and touching her forehead with his lips. That caress brought her more to herself. A wave of gladness swept over her face, her eyes lighted with a beautiful and almost holy look of love, then, with a sigh that seemed to throw off all its burdens and fear, every feature settled into restfulness and peace.
“I am so glad!” was all she could say, and that in a voice too weak for anything but a whisper.