Twice Edith read this letter through before a sign of emotion was visible. She looked about the room, down at herself, and again at the letter.
“Am I really awake?” she said, beginning to tremble. Then the glad but terrible truth grappled with her convictions, and through the wild struggle and antagonism, of feeling that shook her soul there shone into her face a joy so great that the pale features grew almost radiant.
“Innocent! innocent!” fell from her lips, over which crept a smile of ineffable love. But it faded out quickly, and left in its place a shadow of ineffable pain.
“Innocent! innocent!” she repeated, now clasping her hands and lifting her eyes heavenward. “Dear Lord and Saviour! My heart is full of thankfulness! Innocent! Oh, let it be made as clear as noonday! And my baby, Lord—oh, my baby, my baby! Give him back to me!”
She fell forward upon her bed, kneeling, her face hidden among the pillows, trembling and sobbing.
“Edith! Edith!” came the agitated voice of her father from without. She rose quickly, and opening the door, saw his pale, convulsed countenance.
“Quick! quick! Your mother!” and Mr. Dinneford turned and ran down stairs, she following. On reaching the dining-room, Edith found her mother lying on a sofa, with the servants about her in great excitement. Better than any one did she comprehend what she saw.
“Dead,” fell almost coldly from her lips.
“I have sent for Dr. Radcliffe. It may only be a fainting fit,” answered Mr. Dinneford.
Edith stood a little way off from her mother, as if held from personal contact by an invisible barrier, and looked upon her ashen face without any sign of emotion.