“Oh, for Margaret, Margaret, Margaret!” and so on through the day and through the night, until they thought it must have killed him.
Those were terrible days at Redmond Hall. The very servants went carefully about the house with hushed voices, looking after their young mistress with pitying eyes, as she wandered like a lost spirit from one room to another, generally followed by the faithful Janet. Erle came down once, but Fay grew so hysterical at the sight of her old favorite that Mrs. Heron was quite frightened, and begged him to go away; and, as he could do no good, he acquiesced very sensibly in this piece of advice.
Mrs. Heron was growing quite unhappy about my lady. Nothing she could say would make Fay cease from those aimless wanderings; she could not eat, she could not rest, and her fits of weeping seemed only to exhaust her.
Nothing did her any good until Dr. Martin came to her one day, and, taking the thin little hand in his, gave her his faithful promise that, if the fever abated, and she were strong enough, she should help to nurse him by and by, but it would depend upon herself, he said, meaningly; and Fay promised to eat and sleep that she might be fit to nurse Hugh.
She meant to be good and keep her promise; but one evening the longing to see her husband was too strong for her.
Saville had just gone down-stairs for something and had left the dressing-room door ajar. Fay, gliding down the corridor in her white dress, caught sight of the half-opened door, and the temptation was too strong for her; the next moment she was in the dimly lighted room, with her finger on the handle of the closed door.
It yielded to her touch at once, and Fay’s hungry eyes tried to pierce through the semi-darkness.
It was the oriel chamber, and Sir Hugh lay on the very bed where, Mrs. Heron had solemnly assured Fay, many a Redmond had breathed his first and last breath. It had been found impossible to move him, but Fay did not remember this as she stood with beating heart, not daring to move a step.
It was very quiet and still—one of the strange nurses was sitting by the bed with her face toward the patient; she had not heard Fay’s stealthy entrance; the next moment Fay choked back a sob that threatened to rise in her throat, for she had caught sight at last of the white changed face that lay on the pillow; and then, regardless of everything but her love and longing, she glided quickly to the bed, and kissing the wide staring eyes, laid the shaven head tenderly upon her bosom.
“Oh, my lady!” exclaimed the nurse, in a terrified voice, “this is very wrong—very wrong indeed.”