“Clemency,” he said, “don’t you know me?”
“Don’t come in,” she answered, pushing him back. “Go away. Don’t ask me why. Don’t come in.”
“What is the matter?” he exclaimed.
“I don’t know. I—I am afraid to think. Go back. Hark!”
There was a sudden tumult in the house. She put her hands upon her ears. A wild scream, such as no hands could shut out, was heard; and Grace—distraction in her looks and manner—rushed out at the door.
“Grace!” He caught her in his arms. “What is it! Is she dead!”
She disengaged herself, as if to recognise his face, and fell down at his feet.
A crowd of figures came about them from the house. Among them was her father, with a paper in his hand.
“What is it!” cried Alfred, grasping his hair with his hands, and looking in an agony from face to face, as he bent upon his knee, beside the insensible girl. “Will no one look at me? Will no one speak to me? Does no one know me? Is there no voice among you all, to tell me what it is!”
There was a murmur among them. “She is gone.”