AIKENSIDE



chair, drew her closely to him, in a passionate,
almost painful, hug. and said, oh! so tenderly:
    Maddy, my darling, my own!     We will
never be parted again."


             CHAPTER XXIII

                    LUCY

  HOURS had gone by, and the clock hands
pointed to twelve, ere Maddy compelled herself
to hear the story Guy had come to tell. She had
thrust him from her at first, speaking to him of
Lucy, his wife, and Guy had answered her back:
"I have no -ife-I never had one. Lucy is in
heaven," and that was all Maddy knew until the
great shock had spent itself in tears and sobs,
which became almost convulsions as she tried to
realize the fact that Lucy Atherstone was dead;
that the bridal robe about which she had written,
with girlish frankness, proved to be her shroud,
and that her head that night was not pillowed on
Guy's arm, but was resting under English turf
and beneath an English sky. She could listen
at last, but her breath came in panting gasps;
while Guy told her how, on the very morning of
the bridal. Lucy had greeted him with her usual
bright smile, appearing and looking better than
he had before seen her look since he reached her



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