“Try it,” said the little creature, with an excited and exultant face. She then bent over the unconscious man, and, for the first time, kissed him on the cheek, and kissed the poor maimed hand that was nearest to her. Then, she withdrew to the foot of the bed.
Some two hours afterwards, Mortimer Lightwood saw his consciousness come back, and instantly, but very tranquilly, bent over him.
“Don’t speak, Eugene. Do no more than look at me, and listen to me. You follow what I say.”
He moved his head in assent.
“I am going on from the point where we broke off. Is the word we should soon have come to—is it—Wife?”
“O God bless you, Mortimer!”
“Hush! Don’t be agitated. Don’t speak. Hear me, dear Eugene. Your mind will be more at peace, lying here, if you make Lizzie your wife. You wish me to speak to her, and tell her so, and entreat her to be your wife. You ask her to kneel at this bedside and be married to you, that your reparation may be complete. Is that so?”
“Yes. God bless you! Yes.”
“It shall be done, Eugene. Trust it to me. I shall have to go away for some few hours, to give effect to your wishes. You see this is unavoidable?”
“Dear friend, I said so.”
“True. But I had not the clue then. How do you think I got it?”