"Thank God," said Lavendale, "I can breathe again! Pray pardon me, ladies, and go on with your dance," he added courteously; and then, half-leaning upon Bolingbroke, he walked slowly out to the terrace in front of the porch, Judith accompanying him. Here he sat upon a stone bench, and the cool still night restored all his senses. "I am well now, my dear friend," he said to Bolingbroke; "'twas only a passing faintness. The fumes of the log fire stupefied me." "And here you will catch a consumption, if you sit in this cold air," returned his friend, while Judith hung over him with a white scared face, full of keenest anxiety. "It is not cold, but if you are afraid of your gout--" "I am, my dear Lavendale, so I will leave Lady Judith to take care of you for a few minutes--I urgently advise you to stay no longer than that. Are you sure you are quite recovered?" "Quite recovered. Infinitely happy," murmured Lavendale, in a dreamy voice, with his hand in Judith's, looking up at her as she stood by his side. Bolingbroke left them discreetly. To the old intriguer it seemed the most natural thing in the world to leave those two alone together. "How fond they are of each other!" he said to himself; "'tis a pity poor Lavendale is so marked for death. And yet perhaps he may live long enough for them to get tired of each other; so short a time is sometimes long enough for satiety." * * * * * "My beloved, a few minutes ago I thought I was dying," said Lavendale, in a low voice. "Had that deadly swooning come about an hour earlier, I should have said to myself, 'This is the stroke of death.'" "Why, dearest love?" "Because it has been prophesied to me that I should die at midnight." "Idle prophecy. Midnight is past, and we are here, you and I together, happy in each other's love," said Judith. "You are trembling in every limb!" "It is the cold." "No, it is not the cold, Judith: your face is full of fear. Do you see death in mine?" "I see only love, infinite love, the promise of our new life in the glad new year." "Judith," he murmured, leaning his head against her bosom as she leant over him, "I know not if I am happy or miserable; I know only that I am with you: past and future are lost in darkness. But indeed you are shivering. You are not cold, are you, love? It is such a lovely night, so still, so calm." It was one of those exquisite nights which come sometimes in mid-winter. Not a breath of wind stirred the light leafage of the shrubs, or waved the pine-tops yonder. A light fall of snow had whitened the garden-walks, but left the shrubberies untouched. The moon was at the full, and every line and every leaf showed clear in that silver light. The distant landscape glimmered in a luminous haze, deepening to purple as it touched the horizon; while here and there in the valley a glint of brighter silver showed where the river wound among low hills and dusky islets towards the busier world beyond.