"Would you prefer her death?" he demanded, almost harshly.
"Oh, no, no, no!"
"Then let us hope for the best; or at least make the best of the inevitable. You may take comfort in the fact that I promise you Romaine's life."
He turned abruptly as he spoke, and entering the chamber, silently but securely closed the door.
Then it was that the mother's fortitude gave way, and turning to her son, she flung herself upon his breast and burst into tears.
"Oh, Hubert," she sobbed, "what dreadful spell is upon us? After all these years—though I have known Loyd from his infancy, have loved him almost as one of my own children, to-night he seems a stranger to me! What does it mean? what does it all portend?"
He strove to soothe her with loving words, and almost bearing her precious weight in his arms, he led her away to her own apartments.
And then, in expressive silence, the night wore on to its mid-watch. The pale crescent of the moon dropped behind the hills, while here and there a lonesome star peered forth in the rifts of the scudding wrack.
At last, and just upon the stroke of midnight, the vigil was disturbed by the sound of wheels, of footsteps, of voices, and by the muffled unclosing and closing of doors. Loyd Morton started from his chair at the bedside of the sleeping girl. He was pallid to the lips, and with difficulty commanded the desperate condition of his nerves. Contrary to his commands, the door of the chamber had been opened to admit the stalwart figure of a man. The pair had not met in many a year, but in the dim radiance of the shaded lamp, their recognition was instantaneous.
For an instant Morton quailed. The intruder who had braved his authority, to which even the anxiety of a mother deferred, was Colston Drummond!