"Grey," she said, drawing an unoccupied chair close to him, and speaking
very low, "you are better this morning. Do you think you can bear some
very good news?"
"Yes," he answered her. "What is it? Are we nearer New York than we
supposed?"
"No; it has nothing to do with New York, or the ship, but somebody in
it. Grey"--and Lucy spoke hurriedly now--"did it never occur to you that
possibly you were mistaken with regard to Bessie's death--that it might
be some one else who died in Rome and was buried at Stoneleigh--her
mother, perhaps?"
"What!" and Grey drew a long, gasping breath, as he stared wonderingly
at her. "Go on," he added: "tell me what you mean."
"I mean," his aunt replied, "that Bessie is not dead. I have seen her. I
have spoken with her. She is on the ship. She is in my state-room,
waiting for you. She is the sick girl I told you about."
Grey made an effort to spring from his chair, but had not the power to
do so. The shock had been too great, and he sank back half fainting,
whispering as he did so:
"Tell me everything--now--at once.
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