"That poor Garth"--the doctor mentioned his late patient thus endearingly throughout the narrative--"died of consumption."
"Of consumption?" Leah put the question she had been shirking for so long with nervous emphasis, and with short, indrawn breaths.
"Assuredly, and earlier than I expected. There was no need to----"
"I know--I know! Do not put it into words," she fiddled with her handkerchief, looking up, down, everywhere except at her companion. "Did he suffer much?" was her inquiring whisper.
"Not at all; he died in his sleep. Pray do not alarm yourself, madame; the release was a happy and an easy one."
"I am so glad--so relieved," murmured Lady Jim, seeing the spectre which had long haunted her pillow dissolve into thin air. "You see, I thought--that is, I fancied----" she hesitated, and passed her tongue over dry lips.
"The need did not arise," explained the doctor, answering somewhat contemptuously her unspoken fears; "although I was prepared to---- No, do not shudder; there is no blood on my hands, nor on yours. We can marry in peace."
The doubly false prophecy of the last sentence provoked her into ignoring the entire speech. "Go on--please go on. Garth died a natural death at Funchal. Well?"
"I did not say that, madame."
"Absurd! Why, your explanation----"