His voice was so charged with meaning that Lucy shivered. Her eyes became full of apprehension. "Why me, Lord Huddersfield?" she said, "what has happened?"
Agatha, who was thoroughly frightened, laid a sympathetic hand upon her friend's arm. James, who was gazing anxiously at the girl, suddenly turned to his father.
"I think you had better tell your news right out," he said quietly. "Don't keep Miss Blantyre in suspense, Father; it is mistaken kindness. I am sure that she will be brave."
Every one looked at Lord Huddersfield; the air was tense with expectation. "Your good brother, Miss Blantyre," the peer began—Lucy gave a quick gasp and the colour faded from her lips—"your good brother, yesterday in church, was saying Mass when suddenly some local residents rose in their places and made an open protest, shouting and brawling at the very moment of the Prayer of Consecration!"
Lucy gazed steadfastly at him, waiting. He said nothing more. "Go on, please," she managed to whisper at last.
"They were at once ejected, of course," Lord Huddersfield said.
"And Bernard?"
"Although his state of mind must have been terrible, despite his pain, I learn from a private telegram that he continued the service to the end."
The three young people stared incredulously; only Father Saltus suddenly looked very grave.
"But—why—is that all, Lord Huddersfield?" Lucy said with a gasp of half-relief. "I thought you meant that something dreadful had happened to Bernard."