They were still standing before the font while Miss Whalley unfolded her scheme when there came the sound of feet in the porch, and Lennox Tudor put his head in.
His eyes fell at once upon Avery. He hesitated a moment then entered.
She turned eagerly to meet him. "Oh, how is the Squire this morning? Have you been up to the Abbey yet?"
"The Squire!" echoed Miss Whalley. "Is he ill? I was not aware of it."
Avery's eyes were fixed on Tudor's face, and all in a moment she realized that he had been up all night.
He did not seem to notice Miss Whalley, but spoke to Avery, and to her alone. "I have just come back from the Abbey. The Squire died about an hour ago."
"The Squire!" said Miss Whalley again, in staccato tones.
Avery said nothing, but she turned suddenly white, so white that Tudor was moved to compunction.
"I shouldn't have blurted it out like that. Sit down! The poor old chap never rallied really. He had a little talk with Piers half-an-hour or so before he went. But it was only the last flicker of the candle. We couldn't save him."
He bent down over her. "Don't look like that! It wasn't your fault. It was bound to come. I've foreseen it for some little time. I told him it was madness to go out riding as he did; but he wouldn't listen to me. Avery, I say! Avery!" His voice sank to an undertone.