“Yes,” said the doctor, quietly; “she is dead. Poor lady; she has been dead for two hours.”
Sir Ronald sank back in a chair. He repeated the words with a gasping sob, more terrible than tears.
“Dead!” he said, “my wife—Clarice—dead!”
They went away, doctors and servants, thinking it would be better to leave him alone with his dead, to give him time for the first sharp pain to vent itself in tears and words.
But to their surprise, in a few minutes he followed them, with the ghastly pallor on his face.
“How did it happen?” he cried; “you have not told me that.”
“We do not know,” replied Dr. Mayne. “It has all been so strange, so awfully sudden. Half an hour ago one of your grooms galloped over to my house and told me Lady Alden had been found drowned in the river. I came at once, and found she had been dead two hours and more. You will hear more details from the servants.”
“You are sure she is dead?” he repeated. “There have been wonderful cases of resuscitation after apparent drowning. Has all been done that is possible?”
“Only God could restore her to life,” said the doctor, reverently. While the words were yet on his lips, the door of the library opened and the housekeeper came in, looking so ill and alarmed that Dr. Mayne went near to her.
“Oh, sir!” she cried, “will you come upstairs?—will you come up to my lady’s room?”