She stopped abruptly and gazed fixedly in his face where yet lingered the traces of a serious shock; and her great gray eyes grew black as midnight while her cheeks flashed forth a splendid carmine.
"You don't intend to say that he is not dead?" cried she, sharply.
The doctor continued smoothing her hand; she snatched it away and clasped both in an access of emotion.
"Tell me—tell me!" screamed Margaret wildly.
"St. Udo has come back, sure enough," said the doctor, putting his arm about her and trying to soothe her. "St. Udo Brand came home to-day and walked straight into Davenport's office."
Her great eyes drank in the assurance in his face, her parted lips quivered into almost a wild smile of triumph, and she clung to the little doctor, crying out:
"St. Udo is not dead—not dead! Oh, my heart, he is not dead!"
And then she sank on her chair and lifted her sparkling eyes, as it were, to Heaven, and whispered:
"Thank Heaven! thank Heaven! Oh, I can never grieve again."
"Come, that's a right pleasant way of taking it," cried the doctor, quite charmed. "I was so afraid that you would take up the old hatred as soon as he came back to dispute the will with you, especially as he was thought to be so well out of the way."