“Very well; we will come to-morrow.”
There was every reason, for Lucy's sake, why Hugh should come, and in my heart I longed to see him again before I determined on my own course of action. It was a pleasing thought, too, that I should see him comforting one to whom it would mean so much.
The morrow was a long day for both of us, and at four o'clock, just as it was growing dusk, I sate by her bed, listening anxiously to every footfall in the corridor, until at last I caught Angélique's light step, followed by a firmer tread, which I recognised at once.
It would be hard to tell whether Lucy or I was the more excited.
“Be calm, Lucy,” I whispered, laying a trembling hand on hers; and I drew my chair up to the head of the bed, so that I was completely hidden by its white curtain.
“Lucie,” said Angélique, on entering, “I have brought my friend. Shall he come in?”
“Yes, mademoiselle,” answered Lucy, in an expectant voice.
I heard Angélique go towards the door, and then heard Hugh enter. I caught the arms of my chair tightly as he approached the bed, when, to my amazement, I felt that Lucy had raised herself, and the next instant she cried, in a voice strained in agony:
“Hugh Maxwell! What have you done with our son?”