"The Hills! I'm simply dying for the cool mountain air! if Robbie does not come soon, I intend to start for his estate this evening, or very early to-morrow. I have found out the trains, and transport, and am all packed. I'm afraid my letters have missed him—such a funny casual post! By the way, I know you have left the service, how do you happen to be in Madras? Where are you staying?"
"Now for it!" thought Geoffrey, bracing himself. "I'm staying with Rochfort just at present—in fact—he sent me to see you."
"Then," rising hastily, "he is ill! Oh, why did you not say so before? I know you mean kindly, trying to break it to me, but take me to him at once! Is it serious—is it—cholera?"
"No, Rochfort is all right, I assure you," said Mallender, also rising; "you have no cause for any anxiety on that score,—but—I am the bearer of a letter," slowly producing it as he spoke, "that I am afraid will rather upset you, and, er—convey something of a shock——"
"A letter!" she interrupted, "let me have it?" and she almost snatched it from his hand, "I know, it's about money—Rob had some mysterious investments we,—we, are ruined!"
"Whether your husband is ruined, or not, lies entirely with you, Mrs. Rochfort."
"With me? Impossible! Of course my settlement——" then she tore the envelope open, and began to read. As she read, she became pale, then ghastly; at last she gave a long wailing cry, like some wounded animal, and sat down.
"Here, let me get you something," said Mallender eagerly; "shall I call your maid?"
"No, no," in a strangled voice, "bring me a glass of iced water, and call no one."
When he returned with the water, and Mrs. Rochfort had taken a few sips, she looked up at him and said: