At midnight he sate in his room, which adjoined his Grace's study, and in which he was ever within call.
"'Tis a thing perhaps none but a woman could understand," he said to himself in quiet thought.
The clock began to strike twelve. One—two—three—four—five—six—
But the rest he did not hear. The coach-wheels were to be heard rolling into the courtyard. His Grace was returning. Mr. Hammond rose from his work, prepared to answer a summons should he hear one. In but a few minutes he was called and entered the adjoining room.
My lord Duke was standing in the centre of the apartment. He looked like a man who had met with a shock. The colour had fled from his countenance, and his eyes were full of pain.
"Hammond," he said, "a great and sudden calamity has taken place. An hour ago my Lord Dunstanwolde was struck down—in the midst of his company—by a fatal seizure of the heart."
"Fatal, your Grace?" Mr. Hammond ejaculated.
"He did not breathe after he fell," was my lord Duke's answer, and his pallor became even more marble-like than before, as if an added coldness had struck him. "He was a dead man when I laid my hand upon his heart."