Carleton looked from one to the other, moistening his lips with his tongue before at last the words would come. “It’s Henry,” he said hoarsely, “he’s dead. At the station. He fell in front of the train. He slipped—an accident—”
For an instant there fell silence—utter; horror-stricken. And then Vaughan’s eyes sought Carleton’s face. He spoke in a tone scarcely above a whisper. “An accident—” he said.
Carleton met his gaze squarely. The silence deepened; and then, “An accident,” he said again, “he must have thought of Rose—and the Carleton name. And Rose must never know.”
Assentingly Vaughan bowed his head; then stood, gazing straight before him, a dawning horror in his eyes. Jeanne Satterlee sank back in her chair, covering her face with her hands. Drawing a long breath, Carleton seemed again to come to himself. Very gently he drew Marjory closer to his side. Neither spoke, for no words were needed. Her glance told him all that he wished to know; he bent over her, and their lips met.
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes:
1. Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters’ errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author’s words and intent.
2. The original book from which this etext was transcribed did not have a Table of Contents; one has been added for the reader’s convenience.