"Within an hour after you had left us together in the back parlor, with the paper containing the news of my husband's death," answered Cora, speaking in a tone of most unnatural calmness.
"Had that excitement anything to do with her swoon?"
"I do not know."
"Give me the particulars."
"We—or, rather, she—first took up the paper, and without knowing what the news was that you told us to look at, gave it to me, and asked me to read it. I, as soon as I saw what it was—I lost all control over myself. I do not know how I behaved. But she took the paper, to see what it was that had so disturbed me, and then, she, too, became very much agitated; but she tried to console me, tried for a long while to comfort me, standing over my chair, and caressing and talking. At last she left me, and sat down and leaned back in her own chair. I was trying to be quiet, and at last succeeded, and then I arose and went to her, meaning to tell her that I would be calm and not distress her any more. When I looked at her, I found that she had fainted. I rang and sent off for a doctor instantly, and while waiting for him did all that was possible to revive her, but without effect. When the doctor came and examined her condition he pronounced her quite dead."
"This must have occurred four or five hours ago. Why was I not sent for?"
"You were sent for immediately. Messengers were dispatched in every direction. But you could nowhere be found. They did not, indeed, know where to look for you."
"Now close the window again, and then go and leave me alone; and do not let any one disturb me on any account," said the old man, who had not once moved from the bedside, or even lifted his gaze from the face of the dead.
"I have telegraphed to North End for Uncle Fabian and Clarence, also to West Point for Sylvanus. Sylvan cannot reach here before to-morrow, but my uncles will be here this evening. Shall I send you word when they arrive?"
"No. Let no one come to me to-night."