“I do not know,” sobbed Doris, heedless of the latter part of the question. “I—I was not here—I heard him call! Oh, Jeffrey, Jeffrey! dear Jeffrey! Is he——A doctor! oh, if I could get a doctor! Some one——”
“My dear young lady!” murmured Spenser Churchill, pityingly, “I am afraid—do not give way, bear up! In the midst of life——”
A cry rang through the wood, and a shudder shook her frame, then she looked up with a terrible calmness.
“You say that he is dead—is that it? Dead! Oh, Heaven, dead!”
Spenser Churchill shook his head.
“I fear—I very much fear——” he murmured, gravely, and he laid his hand upon the thin wrist. “And you do not know how it happened?” he asked again, his eyes scrutinizing her face with a quick keenness.
“No!” said Doris, hoarsely, and with a sob. “He was alone—I was coming to meet him—I heard him call my name, and—and I found him like this! Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?”
“Can you bear to be left alone for a little while?” said Spenser Churchill. “There is a cottage near here, on the outskirts of the wood. I will go and get some assistance. The poor fellow has died from a sudden attack of heart disease!”
“Oh, go, go!” panted Doris.
He went, after another searching glance at her white face; and she bent over the motionless form, almost as lifeless herself.