From his position he saw that Edith was
asleep, while Nina, with the paper clasped tightly in her hand,
sat watching her. Once the latter thought she heard a suspicious
sound, and stealing to the door she looked up and down the hall
where a lamp was burning, showing that it was empty.
"It must have been the wind," she said, resuming her seat by the
bedside, while Victor Dupres, gliding from the closet where he had
taken refuge, stood again at his former post, waiting for that
deep slumber to end.
"Nina, are you here?" came at last from the pale lips, and the
bright, black eyes unclosed looking wistfully about the room.
Silent and motionless Victor stood, while Nina, bending over
Edith, answered, "Yes, Miggie, I am here, and I've brought you
something to make you well. HE wrote it--Richard did--just now, in
the library. Can you see if I bring the lamp?" and thrusting the
paper into Edith's hands she held the lamp close to her eyes.
"You havn't strength, have you?" she continued, as Edith paid no
heed. "Let me do it for you," and taking the crumpled sheet, she
read in tones distinct and dear:
"I, THE BLIND MAN, RICHARD HARRINGTON, DO HEREBY SOLEMNLY SWEAR
THAT THE MARRIAGE OF ARTHUR ST.
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