Hope is the
last thing to die in the human breast--it was not yet dead in
hers.
At least for that one evening--the first after Lord Airlie's
return--she would be happy. She would throw the dark shadow
away from her, forget it, and enjoy her lover's society. He
could see smiles on her face, and hear bright words such as he
loved. Let the morrow bring what it would, she would be happy
that night. And she kept her word.
Lord Airlie looked back afterward on that evening as one of the
pleasantest of his life. There was no shadow upon the beautiful
face he loved so well. Beatrice was all life and animation; her
gay, sweet words charmed every one who heard them. Even Lionel
forgot to be jealous, and admired her more than he ever had
before.
Lord Earle smiled as he remarked to Lady Helena that all her
fears for her grandchild's health were vain--the true physician
was come at last.
When Lord Airlie bade Beatrice good night, he bent low over the
white, jeweled hand.
"I forget all time when with you," he said; "it does not seem an
hour since I came to Earlescourt."
The morrow brought the letter she had dreaded yet expected to
see.
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