"But it must be not the less agreeable to you to know that the financial aspect is satisfactory," answered Wyllard. "And now what is to hinder a speedy marriage? It is my wife's wish, Bothwell's wish, mine, everybody's, so far as I can understand, except yours. You are the only hindrance. Heathcote, I want to see Bothwell and Hilda married before I die."
"Julian!" cried his wife, with a stifled sob.
"O my dearest, I am not going to leave you yet awhile," answered her husband, clasping her hand, and raising it to his lips with infinite tenderness. "My doctors promise me a slow deliverance. But when a man has begun to die, were it never so gradually, it is time for him to set his house in order. I should like to see Bothwell and Hilda married in Bodmin Church, before the eyes of the people who have maligned my wife's kinsman. I should like the wedding to take place as soon as possible."
"I am sure Hilda's brother will not refuse your request," said Dora, with a pleading look at Heathcote.
"If Hilda and her lover can fulfil their own scheme of happiness by a speedy marriage, I will not be a stumbling-block," said Heathcote.
After this they talked for a little while on indifferent subjects, and of the journey back to Cornwall--that tedious journey of a helpless invalid which would be so different from any previous experience of Julian Wyllard's. He spoke of it lightly enough, affecting a philosophical disdain for the changes and chances of this little life: but Heathcote marked the quiver of his lip, the look of pain, which neither pride nor stoicism could suppress.
Yes, it was a hard thing for such a man, in the very prime of life, handsome, clever, prosperous, to be so struck down: and it could but be said that Julian Wyllard carried himself firmly under the trial.
Heathcote and Dora parted sorrowfully outside the sick-room.
"Is it not good of him to wish to see Bothwell's happiness secured?" she said.
"It is very good of him to think of any one except himself at such a moment," answered Heathcote.
"I am so glad he has won your consent to an early marriage. And now that you have given that consent--now that we are all assured of the folly of any suspicion pointing at Bothwell--I conclude that you will trouble yourself no more about the mystery of that poor girl's death."