Then, what joy, what relief, to know that the girl was alive--a girl, too, so fair, so young, so innocent that she need not be ashamed to present her to the world as her son’s wife. Her face fairly beamed with joy as she bent over him asking, tenderly: “My son, who told you that Floy Fane was dead?” CHAPTER XLI. JOY AND SORROW. St. George looked up at his mother, and it angered him to see the look of joy on her face. “She is so glad--so glad of my darling’s death that she has not the grace to hide it, to feign a sympathy she can not feel,” he thought, miserably. “Answer me, dear,” she persisted, grasping his arm in her excitement. He turned his heavy eyes on her face, and said, reproachfully: “You need not look so glad that she is dead, mother; my grief is bitter enough without that. Well, it was Otho Maury, if you wish to know who wrote me she was dead. He sent me a paragraph from a daily paper. She died by accident--fell from a fourth-story window. Oh, God!” he ended, with a groan, putting his hand upon his eyes as if to shut out some terrible sight. Mrs. Beresford drew back at her son’s reproach, and signed to Alva that she could not go on; it must be her task to break the truth to her brother. She knelt down before him; she put her arm about his shoulders, and her dark eyes, when she raised them to his face, were streaming with tears--tears through which the sunshine of joy broke gladly, as she exclaimed: “Dearest, we have news for you--joyful news. Can you bear it?” He started, his heavy eyes flashed with sudden hope. “Speak!” he cried, hoarsely; and she answered: “Florence Fane did indeed fall from the window--the paragraph told the truth--but Mr. Maury was mistaken about her death. She--she--lives!” “Lives?” he cried. And they never forgot the joy that transfigured his face. It was like sunshine suddenly breaking through a dark cloud. But in a moment he added, sadly: “She lives? How can that be? Perhaps you are going to tell me that she is a wretched cripple for life?” and the anguish of his voice was heart-rending. She studied his face gravely, then asked: “Would that make any change in your love for her, my brother?” Trembling with emotion, his brain whirling with the shock of joy, he answered, fervently: “Change? Yes, I should love her all the dearer, my suffering little love, because to my devotion would be added the divine elements of pity and sympathy. Where is she, Alva? Take me to my darling at once! Ah, now I can live again in her life! I will be her strength and shield. I will watch by her couch of pain, and soothe her in her sufferings!” Overcome with emotion, he leaned his face on Alva’s shoulder, and a stifled sob burst from his lips. In that moment they all realized in its greatness the might of his love for little Floy. Alva glanced around to see if Floy were coming in answer to her message.