One night at Hamley, in an abandonment of grief-life hurt her
so--she had remembered the prophecy she had once made that she would
speak to David, and that he would hear; and she had risen from her seat,
impelled by a strange new feeling, and had cried: "Speak! speak to me!"
As plainly as she had ever heard anything in her life, she had heard his
voice speak to her a message that sank into the innermost recesses of her
being, and she had been more patient afterwards. She had no doubt
whatever; she had spoken to him, and he had answered; but the answer was
one which all the world might have heard.
Down deep in her nature was an inalienable loyalty, was a simple,
old-fashioned feeling that "they two," she and Eglington, should cleave
unto each other till death should part. He had done much to shatter that
feeling; but now, as she listened to Mario's voice, centuries of
predisposition worked in her, and a great pity awoke in her heart. Could
she not save him, win him, wake him, cure him of the disease of Self?
The thought brought a light to her eyes which had not been there for many
a day.
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