She dictated the message and it was sent—to Maggie, and with Mrs. Erps' address added, and running: "Please come at once. He is dead. Audrey."
IV
Miss Oxford arrived in the early afternoon of the next day. All the devotion of the years she had mothered Audrey, all the longing—longing—longing of the past months for news, all the agony of suspense in the train journey (the papers informing her as they informed new Lady Burdon at Miller's Field), all a breaking heart's distress was in the little cry she gave when she entered first front and saw that strangely white, strangely impassive face lying on the pillow.
"My darling! Oh, my darling"—arms about the still form, tears raining down.
No responsive movement; just "Dear Maggie—dear Maggie."
"Why did you never write?"
"Dear Maggie..."
There was no more of explanation between them.
"Maggie, I want to be quite, quite still. Not to talk, Maggie darling. Just hold my hand and let me lie here. Are you holding it?"
"Audrey! Audrey! Yes—yes. In both mine."