The weary, interminable hours drew slowly towards the night; but it seemed to Hastings that the sad journey would never come to an end. When he reached Nice the next morning after a day & a night of steady travel, the strain of thought & fatigue had been so great that he was scarcely conscious of his surroundings, & having driven to the nearest Hôtel went at once up to his room to rest, if indeed rest were possible. A blinding headache had come on, & he was glad to lie on the bed with his windows darkened until the afternoon. He had almost lost the power of thinking now; a dull, heavy weight of anguish seemed to press down destroying all other sensation. When at last he felt strong enough to rouse himself, he rang for a servant & enquired for Lady Breton’s villa in the hope that someone in the Hôtel might direct him thither—for poor Georgie, in her hasty note, had forgotten to give her address. Lord Breton’s death had made too much noise in Nice for his residence to remain unknown; but Guy, not feeling as well as he had fancied, sat down & wrote a few lines asking when he should find Georgie prepared for him—& despatched these by the servant. It was a great relief when, about an hour later, a note was brought back in the meek, ladylike handwriting of Mrs. Rivers, who had of course joined her daughter on Lord Breton’s death. Dear Guy, it ran,

We think our darling Georgie is a little better today, but not strong enough to see you. If she is no worse tomorrow, can you come in the afternoon at about four o’clock? This is a time of great anxiety for us all, which I am sure you must share. My poor child longs to see you. Your loving Cousin, M.A. Rivers.

Hastings scarcely knew how that miserable day passed. He had intended writing to Mr. Graham, but he had lost all power of self-direction, & the one absorbing thought that pressed upon him drowned every lesser duty in its vortex of hopeless pain. Early the next morning he sent to the Villa to enquire after Georgie, & word was brought that my lady was no worse, so that a faint hope began to buoy him up as the hours crept on towards the time appointed for their meeting. His agitation was too intense for outward expression, & he was quite calm when at four o’clock he started out on foot through the sunny streets. It was not a long way to the white villa in its fragrant rose-garden; & before long a servant dressed in black had ushered him into the cool salon where a slight, pink-eyed personage in heavier black than of old, came tearfully forward to meet him. “She will be so glad to see you, Guy,” wept poor Mrs. Rivers. “She said you were to come at once. Are you ready? This is the way.”

Chapter XVI

Too Late

“Tis better to have loved & lost

Than never to have loved at all.” Tennyson. In Memoriam.

Guy followed Mrs. Rivers in silence as she led the way across the polished hall & up a short flight of stairs. Leaving him a moment in a small, sunny boudoir bright with pictures & flowers, she went on into an inner room where there was a faint sound of voices. Returning a moment later, she came up & laid an appealing hand of his arm. “You will be careful, dear Guy, not to agitate her? She is so easily excited, so weak, poor darling! Come now.” She threw the door open, standing back for him to enter the room, & then closed it softly upon him. It was a large room, with two windows through which the mellow afternoon sunlight streamed; & beside one of these windows, in a deep, cushioned arm-chair Georgie sat with a pale, expectant face. So fragile, so sad & white she looked that he scarcely knew her as he crossed the threshold; then she held out her thin little hand & called softly: “Guy!” It was the old voice; that at least had not changed! He came forward almost blindly, & felt his hand grasped in the soft, trembling fingers on which his parting kiss had fallen more than a year ago. He could not speak at first, & she too was silent; both lost in the intensity of their emotion. “Sit down beside me,” she said at last, still clasping his hand gently; & then he looked up again & met the wide, burning hazel eyes brimmed with tears.