“Did you not hear—that cry?”
“No,” he said hastily, “no. What is the matter?”
“Lady Teigne! Quick! Oh, father, it cannot be true!”
“Lady—Lady Teigne?” he stammered, “is—is she—is she ill?”
“She is dead—she is dead!” wailed Claire.
“No, no! No, no! Impossible!” cried the old man, who was shivering visibly.
“It is true,” said Claire. “No, no, it cannot be. I must be wrong. Quick! It may be some terrible fit!”
She clung to his hand, and tried to hurry him out of the room, but he drew back.
“No,” he stammered, “not yet. Your—your news—agitated me, Claire. Does—wait a minute—does anyone—in the—in the house know?”
“No, dear. I thought I heard a cry, and I came down, and she—”