“My dearest child,” said the earl, tenderly, “do not try to control your sorrow. Who so true as we? You can weep before us. You will die if you keep back your tears. I know how you loved poor Ronald.”
She looked at him again with the same strange, sad smile.
“I shall not weep,” she said. “It is through the mercy of God that my husband is dead.”
Lord Lorriston looked at her in amaze; he thought the shock of the sad intelligence he had brought must have crazed her. He went to her, and Kenelm looked on with an aching heart. The time had come when the earl must know, and he knew what the knowledge would cost him.
“Hermione,” said Lord Lorriston, quietly, “you are ill; you are bewildered; try to collect yourself. Your husband is dead, and surely no greater sorrow can come to any woman than the loss of one so good, so kind and true.”
She drew back with a shudder from the kindly hand that would have caressed her.
“Do not touch me, papa,” she said; “do not speak kindly to me—you have something yet to learn. I repeat my words; it is by the mercy of God that my husband is dead.”
She repeated the words so solemnly and with such sincerity that Lord Lorriston was impressed with them.
“Lady Alden,” said Mr. Eyrle, “it is not my place to interfere, but do you not think that Lord Lorriston has sorrow enough for one day?”
“Let him hear the truth,” she replied. “God was merciful, papa, when He sent for my husband. He will never hear now the story of my guilt.”