"My father."

What comfort in these words? What tongue could tell of the happiness that now filled the maiden's heart. She could not utter another word, but put her arms around her father's neck and pressed upon his wasted lips one long lingering kiss--so tender, so pure and so sacred that it might well have accorded with the salutation of the angels in heaven!

And Marguerite Verne clad in robes of dazzling whiteness was indeed a fit representation of an angelic being, whose sole mission on earth was the doing of good and making others happy, but at a great sacrifice, the greatest sacrifice that a maiden can endure--the sacrifice of all her earthly hope.

Yes, Marguerite could and would make such a sacrifice. She had strength given her from the highest source, and she had faith in her heavenly father. He would carry her through all she had now undertaken.

Mr. Verne had rallied sufficiently to recognize his child. He gazed into the face he loved so well, and a faint smile overspread his countenance. He lay with his hands clasped in those of his child and seemed supremely happy.

"It is almost a pity that he should be aroused from this happy, trance-like state," said Mrs. Montgomery as she quietly raised the sick man to administer the medicine that had been consigned to her care.

Marguerite once more pressed the thin lips and stood at a distance, as if trying to think whether it were reality or dreamland.

Other eyes looked upon the maiden and other hands clasped in prayer were indeed very near.

What subtle power caused Marguerite to look around? What subtle power caused her to hold her breath as if oppressed with some invisible presence?

"Miss Verne, I'm glad you are here."

"Thank you Mr. Lawson," was the quiet reply, but in the look there was a world of sympathy that smote deeply into Phillip Lawson's heart.

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

A MINISTERING ANGEL--A SUDDEN REVELATION.

Phillip Lawson was not surprised at the great change which had been wrought in Marguerite Verne. She was kind and thoughtful, but there was a restraint that made him feel ill at ease.

"Poor girl," thought he, "she feels her father's failure very keenly, not I believe from a selfish view but from her relation to others."

The young man had not divined aright.

He was not aware that Marguerite was the affianced wife of Hubert Tracy. He did not know the nature of the blow that had made such dire havoc upon the const.i.tution of Mr. Verne. He did not know that all the anxious moments of the latter were spent in vainly trying to make known the bitter truth. He did not know that within Mr. Verne's desk was concealed a doc.u.ment which might remain there until too late!

Mrs. Verne had arrived in a state bordering on distraction.

She did not wish to meet any of her former friends lest she would hear something that would grate harshly on her nerves. She suffered much from headache and consequently remained most of the time in her own apartments.

"If your papa were at all times conscious of our presence, my dear, there would be some sense in my remaining with him, but really Madge I think the more quiet he is kept the better."

"But mamma dear, one of us should be near so that with returning consciousness he would recognize us."

"But that is not very often, Madge."

"Aunt Hester says that he asked for me very soon after I returned last night. I am so sorry that she did not awaken me." The girl looked sad indeed and to a more sensitive woman it would have been a keen reproach, but Mrs. Verne was wrapt up in self and wished no other feeling to find a shelter within her breast.

Some days pa.s.sed and no great change had taken place in Mr. Verne yet the physician did not p.r.o.nounce his case as hopeless.

"We are all doing our best and I trust that there will soon be a favorable change."

Marguerite Verne heard those words with a deep sigh, yet she was calm, and composed and even smiled at the eulogism pa.s.sed upon her skill in the many duties of the sick chamber.

It was only when in her own room and none were near to witness her grief that she showed the weak side of her nature.

Many weary hours she lay and prayed that G.o.d would give her strength to go through the sad and painful duty that ever and anon rose up before her with a vividness that was cruel as death.

"I cannot meet Mr. Lawson without a shudder!" she murmured between sobs of deep and poignant anguish, "and I love him as I shall never love another--but he shall never know it--ah no. I shall become the wife of Hubert Tracy and try to be happy--yes, happy. And I shall receive the warmest congratulations and I will smile as they think me so happy and look upon me with eyes of envy."

Marguerite now drew her hand across her eyes as if to shut out the reality of the scene, while a chill made her shiver as if seized with ague.

"How foolish to be so weak," she murmurs, "darling papa, I would make a sacrifice ten times as great for his dear sake," and instantly the tears were dried and the girl was calm.

"Poor, dear papa, I shall receive such glowing accounts of his perfect restoration to health, and I can visit him often. Oh! if I could live with him always!"

Marguerite instantly smothered the half-formed sigh and sought a momentary respite in carefully combing out the waves of soft, silken and luxuriant hair.

Such was the manner in which she pa.s.sed the first fortnight after her arrival.

She became accustomed to the young lawyer's daily visits, and though she knew it was not right, she could not resist a desire to await his coming with all the eagerness of her nature. But further she dare not go. The civilities exchanged were of a nature that fell like lead upon the young man's honest heart, but he was attentive to every word and wish, and always appeared with a kind voice and quiet but cheery smile.

But Phillip Lawson had a more bitter draught to swallow ere many hours had pa.s.sed over his head.

Mr. Verne began to show signs of recovery, which the good old physician smilingly attributed to the "ministering angel," as he gaily dubbed Marguerite.

The latter was quietly arranging some delicacies upon a silver tray that stood on the pretty five o'clock.

Phillip Lawson remained for a moment to contemplate the picture.

The girl looked so guileless and so childlike. The pale-grey cashmere, draped in graceful folds, gave her an air peculiar to some self-sacrificing Sister of Mercy, whose presence brought life and light into the home of the afflicted ones.

As she stooped to pick up a stray rose that had fallen from the fragrant bouquet, Phillip saw the delicate hands become tremulous, while the lips parted and the beautiful eyes were raised to heaven.

"Oh, heaven!" murmured the young man "I cannot endure this," and instantly he dashed forward with an impetuosity altogether foreign to his gentle and, at times, grave demeanor.

Marguerite was quick to detect the abruptness, but not a gesture betrayed curiosity.

"Papa has been sleeping for more than two hours--really Mr. Lawson, I have such good news. The doctor has just gone out and he says that every symptom is favorable and that he has every reason to believe that he may rally very soon."

"G.o.d grant it Miss Verne," said Philip, going on tiptoe towards the couch, and gazing wistfully upon the emaciated features of his old friend.

"This is my night to remain with papa, but the doctor bade me ask you to take my place. He seemed very anxious that I should do so and I am willing to do anything that may be deemed necessary."

"Strange that I came here purposely to make the same request," said the young man, looking gravely into the girl's face.

"How good of you, Mr. Lawson."