“You were always too good for me, Margaret,” he muttered, but she only smiled at him, and still holding his hands as she knelt beside him, she whispered that her prayers were heard, and that she knew he would not die, that it was only his weakness, and he would soon struggle back to life again.
“But what good is life to me without you, Margaret?” he asked, in a despairing voice.
“What good? Have you forgotten your wife, Hugh?”
“No,” he murmured, restlessly, “but she is only a child;” but Margaret shook her head.
“You are wrong, she is not a child, nor ever will be again.” And then very gently she urged him when he was stronger to tell Fay the whole story of their engagement; for she was afraid those few words that he confessed were all he had said must have made her very unhappy; but Hugh would not allow this. He told Margaret that she did not understand Fay, or how young and innocent she really was; she had not seemed agitated or disturbed when he had asked to see Margaret—she had answered him quite tranquilly; he was sure she would not suffer from the knowledge of their engagement, for he was always kind to her and she loved him; and then he added bitterly that the suffering was his, but when he got well, if he ever did get well, he would go away, for he could not go on living like this.
And when Margaret saw how it was she did not dissuade him; perhaps, after all, it would be better for him to go away for a little, and come back and begin his life anew, doing a man’s work in his generation.
“One day you will love your wife,” she said to him, “and indeed you can not fail to love her, and then you will only remember that you have a sister Margaret praying for you every day of her life. No, do not look at me like that, Hugh. Up in heaven it will be no sin to love you—I can keep my love till then.” And she then tried to leave him, for, strong as she was, she could not have borne this scene much longer, and Hugh was terribly exhausted.
“Will you kiss me once more, Margaret?” he had asked, faintly, and she had stooped over him again and kissed his forehead and eyes, and then gently bade God bless him.
Was this a woman he had loved or an angel, Hugh wondered, as she closed the door and left him alone in the sunlight; but he was too weak to carry out the thought. When the nurse came to his side he had fallen into a refreshing sleep.
As Margaret crossed the threshold of the dressing-room she caught sight of a listless little figure sitting in one of the deep window-seats of the corridor. There was something in her attitude that struck Margaret—an air of deep dejection, of utter forlornness, that went to her heart. The beautiful little head seemed drooping with weariness; but as she went closer and saw the wan face and the baby mouth quivering, with the under lip pressed like a child’s in pain, she gave an involuntary exclamation. She would not suffer, Hugh had said, she was so young and innocent; and now—the angels comfort your broken heart, sweet Fay.