“From Ronald?” she repeated; and he shrank from the woe in that fair face.
“Is he ill?” she asked, slowly. “Can I go to him?”
“No; you cannot join him, my darling. Kenelm, why do you not help me? You see that I cannot frame the words. You cannot join him; for the cares and troubles of this world are over for him. He will suffer and enjoy no more.”
They saw a great calm steal over her. They had expected an outburst of passionate sorrow; but no word came from those pale lips.
“You mean,” she said, “that he is dead.”
The words sounded like a moan.
“Yes,” repeated Lord Lorriston; “he died quite suddenly, and they wrote to tell me.”
She did not faint or droop; she stood quite still, with this strange, dignified calm; no tears came to her eyes.
“My husband is dead,” she said, slowly. “Oh, Ronald, let me come to you!”
All faculty of emotion seemed frozen within her.