But when she did recover, what
would she do? Nothing rash, he prayed. And what could be the end of
it all? Who might say? How fortunate that the sister had been so sound
asleep. Somehow he did not trust Elizabeth--he feared her.
Well might Geoffrey fear her! Elizabeth's sleep was that of a weasel.
She too was laughing at this very moment, laughing, not loud but
long--the laugh of one who wins.
She had seen him enter, his burden in his arms; saw him come with it to
her own bedside, and had breathed heavily to warn him of his mistake.
She had watched him put Beatrice on her bed, and heard him sigh and turn
away; nothing had escaped her. As soon as he was gone, she had risen and
crept up to Beatrice, and finding that she was only in a faint had left
her to recover, knowing her to be in no danger. Elizabeth was not a
nervous person. Then she had listened till at length a deep sigh told
her of the return of her sister's consciousness. After this there was a
pause, till presently Beatrice's long soft breaths showed that she had
glided from swoon to sleep.
The slow night wore away, and at length the cold dawn crept through
the window.
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