"There is only one thing I want," she said, in a low voice, "and that is—you! Come back as soon—the first moment you can, Yorke, and—and don't forget me!"
He would have been a far worse man than he was if he had not been touched by the depth of her love, and he kissed her with greater warmth than he had ever before shown her.
When he had gone Lady Eleanor threw herself down on the sofa and hid her face in her hands, and Lady Denby, when she came in an hour later, found her thus.
Do it as luxuriously as you may, the journey from England to the south of Italy is a tiresome and aggravating one, and Yorke reached Policastro—the place at which the bodies were lying—worn out mentally and physically. It was fortunate that the devoted Fleming had accompanied him, and never did his devotion display itself more plainly or to better advantage. There were a number of persons, busybodies, there, who would have surrounded Lord Auchester at once—the whole coast was in a state of excitement over the catastrophe—but Fleming kept them at bay, and insisted upon his master taking some rest before he commenced the painful duties necessitated by the circumstances.
"His lordship isn't going to see any one to-night," he assured the landlord of the hotel. "Not if it was the King of Italy himself. If anybody wants to know anything, let them come to me."
The landlord only half understood, but he was considerably awed by Fleming's tone, and departed shrugging his shoulders and spreading out his hands after the manner of his nation.
In the morning Yorke went and identified the bodies and arranged for the funeral, and was returning to the hotel when he met Grey, the duke's valet.
"His grace has just arrived, my lord. I came to meet you," he said. "I hope your lordship is well?" he added, respectfully, and with rather a serious glance at Yorke's face.
Yorke nodded.
"All right, thank you, Grey," he said. "And the duke?"