tamed yet. She
was silent--she wavered--then her great love for him vanquished all
else. She rose, white as death, her passionate eyes full of unshed
tears, the bitterest, yet the softest, Beatrice Boville had ever known.

"Take me to him. No one shall tell him but myself."

Earlscourt was lying on a couch in his library; he had been unable to
dictate or to write himself, for severe remedies had prostrated him
utterly, and he could not speak above his breath, though he was loath to
give up, and acknowledge himself as ill as he was. His eyes were closed,
his forehead knitted together in pain, and his labored breathing told
plainly enough how fiercely his foe had attacked him, and that it was by
no means conquered yet. He had not slept all night, and had fallen into
a short slumber now, desiring his attendants to leave him. I bade the
groom of the chambers let us enter unannounced, and, opening the door
myself, signed to Beatrice to go in, while her aunt and I waited in the
anteroom. She stopped a moment at the entrance; her pride had its last
struggle; but he turned restlessly, with a weary sigh, and by that sigh
the Pythoness was conquered. Beatrice went forward and fell on her knees
beside his sofa, bending down till her lips touched his brow, and her
hot tears fell on his hands.

"I was too proud last night to tell you you misjudged me. I have no
pride now. I am your own--wholly your own. I never loved, I never should
love, any but you. I forgive you now. O, how could you ever doubt me?
Lord Earlscourt--Ernest--may we not yet be all we once were to one
another?"

Awakened by her kisses on his brow, bewildered by her sudden appearance,
he tried to rise, but sank back exhausted. He did not disbelieve her
now. He had no voice to speak to her, no strength to answer her; but he
drew her down closer and closer to him, as she knelt by him, and, as her
heart beat once more against his, the little Pythoness, tamed at last,
threw her arms round him and sobbed like a child on his breast. And
so--Beatrice Boville took her best REVENGE!--while I shut the library
door, invited Lady Mechlin to inspect Earlscourt's collection of French
pictures, and asked what she thought of _Punch_ this week.

I don't know what his physicians would have said of the treatment, as
they'd recommended him "perfect quiet;" all I do know is, that though
Earlscourt went to the south of Europe as soon as he could leave the
house, Beatrice Boville went