"
"It was only a scrawl; he was dying, and signed your--your husband; he
had been stricken down by fever; your name was ever on his lips; he
said you loved Paris, and he would be buried there; he had loved you
all his life; he was glad to go; you were not to shed one tear for
him, but to make some one blest by your love; your miniature was to be
buried with him; he is in paradise; you must not weep for him, and so
cause others to weep for you."
"I shall not forget to remember your kindness," she said, giving her
hand, the tears welling her eyes; "Sir Lionel Trevalyon will perhaps
bring me out to your monastery."
"I thank you, and for our Order," and moving away to his former
position, he continued:
"I have now finished my task, self-imposed and in the ends of justice;
Sir Lionel Trevalyon is free to go to God's altar with the proudest
and fairest woman in the world; and may the blessing of heaven rest
upon his union. Had he not exposed the facts, he could not have wed,
while your lips framed the word--bigamist!"
Here the boy started violently, put up his hands to his face, tearing
off the mask, and rubbing his eyes.
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