Only one thing mattered. Against all hope. . .she
loved him too. A tortured groan escaped him, and his face so convulsed
with emotion that he could only hide it in shame against the coverlet.
But slowly the paroxysm passed, and he felt loving fingers caressing
his hair, and whispering words of comfort. "Michael," she said, as he
drew himself up, exhausted. "It must have been my mother who gave you
the letter, part of a long, bitter plot against Lord Purceville. She
needed my help, and wanted you out of the way. Please forgive her. She
harbored such hatred against him, that it made her blind to all
else..... But that is in the past." She tried to smile, as he nodded
his understanding. "You know," she said. "I have a few questions for
you, too."
He put a finger to her lips. "Soon, but not now. Let us have what
remains of this night, at least, free from sorrow and danger. Let us
have each other."
At that moment there came a light knocking at the door, and Anne Scott
entered the room. Her face was so softened, and beaming with such
reborn faith that Mary hardly recognized it.
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