For nearly a moment she remained silent.
"Olga, is he ill? Is he dead?"
A cry as of one indeed broken-hearted came from her quivering lips, and she clasped her arms over her head.
"Oh, if he were indeed dead! If I could have seen him and kissed him in his coffin! And known that he was still mine, all mine, even in the grave——"
Her head sank upon her bosom, and after a brief pause she resumed in an unnaturally calm voice.
"My world so lovely yesterday has gone to pieces; and for me life is a black crumbling ruin. I hung all my hopes, my prayers, my fondest dreams on one shining silver thread of trust, and it snapped, and all fall together. We ask for fish, and are stung by scorpions; we pray for bread—only bare bread for famishing hearts—and we are stoned. Ah! it appears only a hideous dream; but I know it is awfully, horribly true."
"What is true? Don't keep me in suspense."
Olga bent forward, put her large hands on Regina's shoulders as the latter knelt in front of her, and answered drearily:
"He is married."
"Not Mr. Eggleston?"