Barker’s uneasiness increased.
“My lady is not here, my lord,” she said.
Trafford put his hand up against the side of the door, as if to grasp at something.
“Not!”
“No, my lord,” said Barker, looking at him questioningly and beginning to tremble. “When I came in this morning her ladyship was not here. She must have dressed by herself and gone out; she has taken one of her traveling-dresses.”
As she spoke, she glanced toward the inner bedroom. His eyes followed hers, and he saw that the bed had not been slept in. A crimson light seemed to flash across his eyes, and then for a moment he became blind. He stood looking with sightless eyes at the bed; then, without a word, he turned and walked away with uncertain steps like a drunken man.
As he reached the duke’s door it opened quickly, and the duke’s valet rushed out with a cry of horror.
“Oh! my lord, my lord!” he gasped, and turned back into the room wringing his hands.
Trafford followed him and stood beside the bed. One glance told him what had happened. His father was dead.
The old man had passed away into the land of Peace and Rest; had passed away with Esmeralda’s tear still glittering upon his face, with the smile which her kiss had awakened still lingering on his lips.