She lay thinking for some little time, and then he felt that a feeble effort was being made to draw his hand closer to her face, and yielding it, once more a wild throb ran through his nerves, for she feebly drew his hand to her cheek and held it there.

"I was very blind then," she said in a whisper; "but I am not blind now."

She spoke with her eyes closed, the restful look intensifying as the time glided on.

After a while the woman who had acted as nurse announced the coming of the doctor, who brightened and looked pleased as he saw the change.

"Yes," he said; "the fever has left her. Now we must build her up again."

And after satisfying himself about his patient's state, he beckoned Miss Burge from the room, and gave the fullest instructions as to the course to be pursued, promised to come in again that evening, and went away.

The day glided on, and William Forth Burge kept his place by the bedside, feeling that it was his by right; and then, at times, suffering from a terrible depression, as he told himself that he ought to go, and not presume upon the weakness of one who was in his charge. Hazel lay with her eyes half-closed, apparently in a restful, dreamy state, rousing herself a little when her tender nurse administered to her food or medicine, and then turning her eyes for a few moments to the occupant of the chair by the bedside, smiling at him sadly, afterwards, with a restful sigh, letting her cheek lie against his hand.

"I should like to have seen my little sisters," she said once softly, "and my poor mother; but it would be cruel to bring them here. I should like to kiss poor Ophelia too." She laughed faintly here, as if amused.

"Poor child!--so good at heart. Poor child!"

There was another long interval of genuine sleep now, which lasted until evening, when Hazel awoke with a frightened start crying out painfully.

"What is it, my pet?" whispered little Miss Burge, bending over the bed, and parting the hair from Hazel's hot wet brow. "There--there; you're better now."

The light of recognition came, and she darted a swift, clear look at the speaker, then turned excitedly to the bedside where William Forth Burge still sat holding her hand.

The peaceful smile came back as she saw him there, and she began speaking in a quick, excited way:--

"I have been dreaming--I thought I had told him it was impossible again--that I could not; for I loved some one else. But I do not. It was a weak girl's fancy. Miss Burge, I should like to kiss you, dear; but it would be unkind. Touch my face--my lips with your fingers."

"My darling, I have no fear," sobbed the little woman; and she bent down and kissed the poor girl pa.s.sionately, but only to rise in alarm, and make a sign to her brother, which he interpreted aright, and was about to rise and seek for help; but Hazel clung to his hand in alarm.

"No, no! don't go!" she said hoa.r.s.ely. "I could not bear it now."

"I'll run, Bill!" panted Miss Burge; but a word from Hazel stayed her.

"No; stop!" she whispered. "G.o.d knows best, Miss Burge. Lift me a little more. Let my head rest on your shoulder--so!"

William Forth Burge raised the thin, slight form tenderly and reverently, till Hazel's head rested upon his broad shoulder, and he held her there; but she was not satisfied till he had placed her arm so that it half embraced his neck, and there she lay, gazing with her unnaturally bright, wistful eyes in his, while the great tears slowly welled over their bounds and trickled down his heavy face.

"Miss Burge," she said again, and there was something very strange and wild in her voice, "I was weak and foolish once; but now it is too late, I have grown wiser--just at last. This is going to be my husband. In his dear memory I shall be his wife, for I love him now--with all my heart!"

She closed her eyes for a few moments, and without a sound little Miss Burge stretched out one hand to the bell, making a sign to the nurse who answered, and then glided away.

There was a long, deep silence then, broken only by a sob from Miss Burge, who now sank upon her knees by the bedside.

Hazel's eyes opened again, and she gazed about her wildly, and as if in fear; but the restful smile came back, and she sighed as if relieved; and again there was a long silence, during which the watchers waited impatiently for the doctor's step.

And so the minutes glided by, and the night came on apace--a night they felt would be black and deep, for all hope was gone.

Then Hazel spoke again, and her voice sounded clearer and more distinct--

"I shall not hurt you now," she said softly, and her thin, wasted hand rose from the counterpane, seemed to tremble in the air for a moment, and then nestled in William Forth Burge's breast. "Kiss me," she said softly; "think that--at last--I loved you. So tired--let me sleep!"

Is there truth in the old superst.i.tious stories that we hear? True in their spiritual sense or no, just then a black pigeon that had hovered about the house for days alighted upon the window-sill, and the rustle of its wings sounded loud and painful in the oppressive stillness of that evening.

From the fields the soft lowing of the kine came mellowed and sweet, and from the wood behind the house a thrush sang its evening hymn to the pa.s.sing day, while, as the west grew less ruddy, the soft dawn-like light intensified in the north.

It needed but one sound to add to the solemnity of the time, and that was the heavy knoll of the church bell, which rang out the curfew, as it had announced the hour from the far-back days when it was cast and blessed, and holy hands first hung it there.

Just then little Miss Burge uttered a faint e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of relief, for there was a quick step upon the gravel; but ere it reached the door there was a deep sigh in the shadowed room, Hazel's large, soft eyes grew dilate, and their light was for ever gone; another bridegroom had s.n.a.t.c.hed her from her simple-hearted lover's arms--and that bridegroom was Death!

The End.