“I know all about it,” she added.
“All? What?” stammered Elliott.
“Everything. They found my father’s body the day after I got your letter. It was in an empty house. I saw him buried in Happy Valley.”
“Margaret, I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t dare—”
“Oh, yes, I know; it was kind of you. And oh! I was so glad to get away from that awful city. But for your letter I think I should have died. I thought at first that you had deserted us, and I was all alone. That night of waiting—can I ever forget it! The consul and his wife were very kind—but I was all alone.” Her voice was choking, and she was trying hard to keep the sobs down.
“Don’t cry, for heaven’s sake,—dear,” said Elliott, in deep trouble. “The worst is over now. I’ll see that everything is right. Just depend on me.”
“I suppose the worst is over,” she said, drying her eyes. “But I feel as if it were only beginning. How can I live? My whole life feels at an end, somehow. But I will try to be strong. I was brave in Hongkong, when I had everything to do—but now. Never mind, I will be brave again, as my poor father was, and as he would want me to be.”
“That’s right. Here’s your hotel. There’s a good room engaged for you, and you’ll find they’ll make you very comfortable. Ask for everything you want,” said Elliott.
“You must tell me first all you know about father’s death.”
Elliott shuddered. “Not to-day. You’re tired out; you must be. I’ll tell you to-morrow.”