In the grave alone was peace. So she lay through the long, sweet, summer night, and the mill-stream sung her dirge.
Was it suicide, or was she mad? God who knows all things knew that she had suffered a heavy wrong, a cruel injustice, a martyrdom of pain. She had raised herself to one of the highest positions in the world and there she had met her old love.
Only Heaven knew what she endured after that, when she saw his wife, when she saw him in his daily life, yet knowing that he was lost to her for evermore.
Then the climax came when his wife spoke of "Lance's little child." If those words drove her to her death who shall wonder?
She saw the stars in the water and thought she was going to them; and perhaps, on the Great Day, that thought, that imagination may plead for her.
It was a mad love, a cruel, mad love.
Some instinct came to Lord Chandos when he read that letter that all was not well. He started at once for Rashleigh.
The morning sun was high in the heavens when he reached there. Going at once to the mill-stream, he had seen the body of the woman he loved floating there, her long hair tangled in the water-lilies, a smile such as comes from perfect peace on her face.
He did the wisest thing he could have done—he brought Farmer Noel to the spot, and told him the story, while she lay with her face raised to the morning skies—the story of a mad love.
Farmer Noel uttered no reproaches.