"Mother!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with repressed emotion, "thank heaven, you have come! Otherwise I should have been forced to wake you, for I cannot sleep, I cannot wait another hour, another minute. I must speak now, this instant!"
She came to her mother and laid her jewelled arms about her neck, her very attitude eloquent of the yearning of her soul.
It was with the utmost effort that Mrs. Effingham commanded herself sufficiently to conceal the dire apprehension that assailed her.
"And so you shall speak, my darling," she answered soothingly, as one would humor a perverted fancy; "unburden your whole heart to me."
"Mother, I was to have been married this month."
"Yes, my dear child."
"How many days are we from the date proposed?"
The anxious pallor of the lady's face overspread her lips and she hesitated.
"What does it matter, dear?" she faltered.
"What does it matter!" echoed Romaine steadily; "it matters much—to me. Events have become confused in my mind since my illness; so you must tell me how soon I was to have been married. You must tell me, for I wish to know."