It seemed to me that I had felt the sting of all else, and this was the last and bitterest; earth could hold nothing more of torture for me. The morrow was as naught beside it. I could imagine how the damned must feel, as they writhe in agony in the burning flames of hell, and realize that they must suffer for countless ages; that there has gone from them all hope—that shining star that guides our groping feet through life's scenes of bitterest woe, and remains our brightest blessing from the cradle to the grave. When hope has fled, there is nothing left.
I must have walked thus for hours, for it was eleven o'clock of the night, when worn out and exhausted, I threw myself again upon the bed. I had reached the point where my tortured soul could suffer no more, and I was now comparatively resigned. The storm and struggle had left me weak and worn, but I had spent myself with its fury and now lay quiet and composed.
Another tap upon the door, and I heard it softly open. Perhaps it was old Sir Henry coming to cheer my drooping spirits. I did not turn my face from the wall; the candle was burning low upon the table, and cast its flickering light throughout the room. I lay there a moment, no sound came from the intruder; and then I became conscious of some faint, familiar perfume. Delicate and subtle, it penetrated my nostrils as though some far-famed wine, buoyant and life-giving.
I sprang to my feet in an instant; there was only one who used such perfume as this. There, standing by the table, wrapped in a dark cloak that concealed her face, one little jeweled hand resting upon the table, stood a lady. I could not see her face; but that radiant hair that sparkled like gold in the light, that proud bend of the head, the little foot that peeped out from the folds of her dress, they belonged only to one of earth's creatures, and she—Margaret Carroll.
"Margaret!" I cried. "Is it thou?" And I would have caught her in my arms in my delight.
But she drew back from me, the cloak falling from her as she did so, and raised her hand.
"Stop, sir," she said hurriedly. "Thou must think me bold and unmaidenly."
"Say rather divine!" I cried. "Like some ministering angel, to bless poor mortals," and I took a step nearer where she stood.
The faint color had deepened on her rose cheeks at my words.
"Stop," she said. "Thou dost misinterpret my visit, as I feared thou wouldst; but I knew not what else to do. There was no one I could trust, so I persuaded Sir Robert Vane to bring me. He awaits outside," and she turned as though to call him in.