Lady Lucy returned and beckoned. Once more Diana found herself hurrying
along the ugly, interminable corridors with which she had been so
familiar in the spring. The house had never seemed to her so forlorn.
They paused at an open door, guarded by a screen.
"Go in, please," said Lady Lucy, making room for her to pass.
Diana entered, shaken with inward fear. She passed the screen, and there
beyond it was an invalid couch--a man lying on it--and a hand held
out to her.
That shrunken and wasted being the Oliver Marsham of two months before!
Her heart beat against her breast. Surely she was looking at the
irreparable! Her high courage wavered and sank.
* * * * *
But Marsham did not perceive it. He saw, as in a cloud, the lovely oval
of the face, the fringed eyes, the bending form.
"Will you sit down?" he said, hoarsely.
She took a chair beside him, still holding his hand. It seemed as though
she were struck dumb by what she saw. He inquired if she was at
Beechcote.
"Yes." Her head drooped. "But I want Lady Lucy to let me come and stay
here--a little."
"No one ought to stay here," he said, abruptly, two spots of feverish
color appearing on his cheeks.
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