“The one the Master sleeps in now. There is a portrait of him in the picture-gallery. To-morrow you shall see it.”
“What did he die of?”
“He had quick ears. He heard the spirit voices calling, and he went to them.”
“Painlessly?”
“Like one sailing on a sea of glass. They say his end was merciful; and I know it was. He suffered nothing—he suffers nothing now.”
“Is he in heaven?”
“I doubt there was too little pain for that; but yet I cannot tell. He may have suffered previously. Men’s lives are strange. And the roughest rocks are coated by smooth waters. They keep their secrets all too well.”
“I’m tired, Mariana. Shall we go to bed?”
“Yes. When you wish it.”
So they rose and went together to the bedroom, which had a chilly air in it after the cosy room. When at last Rosalie was in bed, Mariana smoothed the coverlet and tucked the bed-clothes in.