“You regret nothing, dear?”
“Regret!”
“It is always in my mind—this curse. I am not a coward, Kate, but I go in deadly fear at times of my own flesh.”
“Always—this!”
“Would to God I could bear it all myself.”
“Come,” and she hung over him; “I understand, I am not afraid. You must rest; we will go away together to the cottage—a little honeymoon. You are not yourself as yet. Oh, my beloved, I want you here, here—at my heart!”
Darkness enveloped them, and she pillowed her husband’s head upon her shoulder. He heard her heart beating, heard the drawing of her breath. In a little while he fell asleep, but Catherine lay awake for many hours, her love hovering like some sacred flame of fire over the tired man at her side.
CHAPTER X
A white-capped servant came running across Lombard Street from Mr. Carmagee’s, and hailed Murchison’s chauffeur, who had just swung the car to the edge of the footway outside the doctor’s house. The white streamers of the maid’s apron were fluttering jauntily in the wind. Some weeks ago the chauffeur had discovered the fact that the lawyer’s parlor-maid had an attractive simper.
“Good-day, miss; can I oblige a lady?”