She could not answer. She went into the next room, and crying, "Oh, Hubert, Hubert, go and look at my Dove"s face!" burst into tears on her husband"s bosom. And yet there was nothing remarkable about the girl"s face-except, perhaps, to one who had watched it critically all the night through, and was alarmed by the transition from the ruddy lamplight to the grey and haggard tone of the morning.
The doctor came, and went away again, saying nothing.
Towards the forenoon, Dove said to Will-
"I want to hear "The Coulin"--"
"Not "The Coulin," Dove," he pleaded.
"When Miss Brunel comes, perhaps she will play it. The music is simple.
Put it on the piano-and-and send for her."
He himself went for her-out into the bright light of that fresh spring morning. Annie Brunel, when he found her, was in her poor lodgings, dressed in the simple black dress in which he had last seen her.
"I was going up to see Dove," she said, "when I heard she had sent for me. But-is there anything the matter?"
"Dove is ill," he said, abruptly. "I-I cannot tell you. But she wants you to come and-play a piece of music for her."
Neither of them spoke a word all the way to the house. When Annie Brunel, pale and calm and beautiful, went to the girl, and took up her white hand, and kissed her, there was a pleased smile on Dove"s face.
"Why didn"t they tell me you were ill?" she said. "I should have been here before."
"I know that," said Dove, in a whisper, "for-for you have always been kind to me. You have come in time-but I am too weak to tell you-ask Will-the betrothal--"
The brief explanation was speedily given; and then Dove said-
"I am very tired. Will you go into the next room, and play me "The Coulin;" and when you come back--?"
She went to Dove"s piano, and found there the air which she knew so well. And as she played it, so softly that it sounded like some bitter sad leave-taking that the sea had heard and murmured over, Dove lay and listened with a strange look on her face. Will"s hand was in hers, and she drew him down to her, and whispered-
"I could have been so happy with you, Will: so very happy, I think. But I had no right to be. Where is the-the paper-I was to sign?"
He brought it, and put it on the table beside her bedside; and Miss Brunel came into the room, and went over to Dove.
"That is the paper I must sign," said the girl. "But how can I? Will you-will you do it for me? But come closer to me and listen, for I have-a secret--"
When Annie Brunel bent down her head to listen, Dove drew the wedding-ring off her finger, kissed it tenderly, and put it on her companion"s hand; and then she said, looking Annie in the face with a faint smile in the peaceful violet eyes-"It is your own name you must sign."
At the same moment she lay back exhausted, and to Mr. Anerley, who had hurriedly stepped forward to take her hand, she sighed wearily-"I am so tired; I shall rest." And presently a beautiful happy light stole over the girlish features; and he heard her murmur indistinctly-as if the words were addressed to him from the other world-the old familiar line, "_Meghily, meghily shall I sleep now_."
They were the last words that Dove uttered; and the cause of the last smile that was on her sweet face.
THE END.