‘Poor Adela, I pity you almost as much as her,’ said Bertha.
‘Oh, I know now how much I have to be thankful for! No uncertainty—and my little one’s grave.’
‘Besides Amice. Let me drive you up, Addie. Your heart is beating enough to knock you down.’
‘Well, I believe it is. But not up to the front door. I will go in by the garden. Oh, may he be spared to her at least!’
Very pale then Lady Adela crept in, meeting a weeping maid who was much relieved to see her, but was hardly restrained from noisy sobs. Mr. Trotman, she said, had come just before the garden boy had inevitably dashed up with the tidings, and the household had been waiting till he came out, to secure that he should be near when Lady Northmoor was told.
Adela felt that this might be the safest opportunity, and sent a message to the door to beg that her ladyship would come and speak to her for a few minutes in the study.
Mary’s soft step was soon there, and her lips
were framing the words, ‘No ground lost,’ when at sight of Adela’s face the light went out of her eyes, and setting herself firmly on her feet, she said, ‘You have bad news. My boy!’
Adela came near and would have taken her hand, saying—‘My poor Mary’—but she clasped them both as if to hold herself together, and said, ‘The fever!’
‘No, no—sadder still! Drowned!’