He crept in, and saw a sorry sight. The travelling dress and bonnet were waiting still on the bed; the bridal wreath and veil lay on the floor; and so did half the necklace, and the rest of the pearls all about the floor; and Julia, with all her hair loose and hanging below her waist, lay faintly quivering in her mother's arms.
Edward stood and looked, and groaned.
Mrs. Dodd whispered to him over Julia: “Not a tear! not a tear!”
“Dead, or false?” moaned the girl: “dead, or false? Oh that I could believe he was false; no, no, he is dead, dead.”
Mrs. Dodd whispered again over her girl.
“Tell her something: give us tears—the world for one tear!”
“What shall I say?” gasped Edward.
“Tell her the truth, and trust to God, whose child she is.” Edward knelt on the floor and took her hand—
“My poor little Ju,” he said, in a voice broken with pity and emotion, “would you rather have him dead, or false to you?”
“'Why false, a thousand times. It's Edward. Bless your sweet face, my own, own brother; tell me he is false, and not come to deadly harm.”