"I cannot meet Mr. Lawson without a shudder!" she murmured between sobs of deep and poignant anguish, "and I love him as I shall never love another—but he shall never know it—ah no. I shall become the wife of Hubert Tracy and try to be happy—yes, happy. And I shall receive the warmest congratulations and I will smile as they think me so happy and look upon me with eyes of envy."
Marguerite now drew her hand across her eyes as if to shut out the reality of the scene, while a chill made her shiver as if seized with ague.
"How foolish to be so weak," she murmurs, "darling papa, I would make a sacrifice ten times as great for his dear sake," and instantly the tears were dried and the girl was calm.
"Poor, dear papa, I shall receive such glowing accounts of his perfect restoration to health, and I can visit him often. Oh! if I could live with him always!"
Marguerite instantly smothered the half-formed sigh and sought a momentary respite in carefully combing out the waves of soft, silken and luxuriant hair.
Such was the manner in which she passed the first fortnight after her arrival.
She became accustomed to the young lawyer's daily visits, and though she knew it was not right, she could not resist a desire to await his coming with all the eagerness of her nature. But further she dare not go. The civilities exchanged were of a nature that fell like lead upon the young man's honest heart, but he was attentive to every word and wish, and always appeared with a kind voice and quiet but cheery smile.
But Phillip Lawson had a more bitter draught to swallow ere many hours had passed over his head.
Mr. Verne began to show signs of recovery, which the good old physician smilingly attributed to the "ministering angel," as he gaily dubbed Marguerite.
The latter was quietly arranging some delicacies upon a silver tray that stood on the pretty five o'clock.