It seemed long, very long before he could understand. Other persons, who had seen what had happened, or part of it, and who had seen Michael rush after the other two, had come up, and they told him again and again. A score of times he heard the words repeated: ‘Dead; both dead. No one could swim in such a flood!’ And yet he did not grasp it. But at last, after what seemed a long time, it did come home to him, and he understood that Ada had avenged herself.
CHAPTER XLIII
MAGDALEN. IN VALEDICTION
It was July of the same year, and the time drew towards evening. The bright, westering sun was shining into the library at the Red Gables. In one of the deep window-seats, Eleanor and Michael sat side by side, and hand in hand. It seemed as if he had just returned from some journey, for there were signs about the room of a traveller’s recent arrival; and she, it would appear, had not even yet done bidding him welcome, her eyes dwelling still, with undiminished light of affection upon a face beloved. They had been man and wife for three weeks, and after a short ten days of honeymoon, he had brought her home, and left her there, while he went to London, to attend to the innumerable affairs connected with his brother’s business, will, and death. Ten minutes ago he had come in, and she was asking him for his news, which he seemed almost unwilling to enter upon.
‘There are letters for me, I perceive,’ he said at last. ‘That is from Roger. When did it come?’
‘This morning only.’
‘Let me have it.’
‘No. I have read it. It will keep, because it contains good news. I want to know first all you have not told me. The good news for the last.’
‘I have told you almost everything, my child. It has been a sad business; sad from beginning to end. I have settled it all up—all poor Gilbert’s affairs. He was different from me; no doubt of that. I learnt a lesson or two.’
‘In what way?’