"And how did it happen?"
"He could not bear the ruin that he had brought upon himself and you."
"Then;—then—" She went no further in her speech; but Dalrymple assented by a slight motion of his head, and she had been informed sufficiently that her husband had perished by his own hand. "What am I to do?" she said. "Oh, Conway;—you must tell me. Was there ever so miserable a woman! Was it—poison?"
He got up and walked quickly across the room and back again to the place where she was sitting. "Never mind about that now. You shall know all that in time. Do not ask any questions about that. If I were you I think I would go to bed. You will be better there than up, and this shock will make you sleep."
"No," she said. "I will not go to bed. How should I know that that man would not come to me and kill me? I believe he murdered Dobbs;—I do. You are not going to leave me, Conway?"
"I think I had better, for a while. There are things which should be done. Shall I send one of the women to you?"
"There is not one of them that cares for me in the least. Oh, Conway, do not go; not yet. I will not be left alone in the house with him. You will be very cruel if you go and leave me now,—when you have so often said that you,—that you,—that you were my friend." And now, at last, she began to weep.
"I think it will be best," he said, "that I should go to Mrs. Van Siever. If I can manage it I will get Clara to come to you."
"I do not want her," said Mrs. Broughton. "She is a heartless cold creature, and I do not want to have her near me. My poor husband was ruined among them;—yes, ruined among them. It has all been done that she may marry that horrid man and live here in this house. I have known ever so long that he has not been safe among them."
"You need fear nothing from Clara," said Dalrymple, with some touch of anger in his voice.