They made a beautiful tableau, and Victor for a time stood
watching them, wiping the moisture from his own eyes, and
muttering to himself, "Poor Edith, I understand it now, and pity
you so much. But your secret is safe. Not for worlds would I
betray that blessed angel, Nina." Then, crossing the hall with a
cautious tread, he entered his own apartment and sat down to
THINK.
Victor Dupres knew WHAT HAD BEEN SCRATCHED OUT!
CHAPTER XXIII.
PARTING.
It was late the next morning, ere Nina and Edith awoke from that
long sleep, which proved so refreshing to the latter, stilling her
throbbing pulse, cooling her feverish brow, and subduing the wild
look of her eyes, which had in them the clear light of reason.
Edith was better. She would live, the physician said, feeling a
glow of gratified vanity as he thought how that last dose of
medicine, given as an experiment, and about which he had been so
doubtful, had really saved her life. She would have died without
it, he knew, just as Mrs. Matson, who inclined to homoeopathic
principles, knew her patient would have died if she had not slily
thrown it in the fire, substituting in its stead sweetened water
and pills of bread.
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