On the opposite side of the card was pencilled the full address of old Hagar, and this was all. Scant information, but it was enough.
Cora pounced upon the bundle and opened it. It contained a little purse; a few trinkets, which any of the servants could identify as belonging to Madeline; the cloak she had worn the evening of her flight; and a pocket-handkerchief with her name embroidered in the corner.
Satisfaction beamed in the face Cora turned toward Lucian, and away from Miss Arthur. She was mindful of the proprieties, however, and turning her eyes back upon the lady opposite, she pressed a dainty handkerchief to her countenance, and murmured plaintively:
"How very, very shocking, and sad! Poor Mr. Arthur is quite overcome, and no wonder—that poor, sweet, young girl."
Across Lucian's averted face flitted a smile of sarcasm. How little she knew of the truth, this fair hypocrite, and how unlikely she was ever to know now. If Madeline were dead, of what avail was any effort to break from the olden thraldom—for this is what had been in the mind of the scheming man.
Cora brushed her handkerchief across her eyes and arose languidly. "I must go to Mr. Arthur, poor man," she murmured, shaking out her flounces. "He is terribly shocked, I fear."
Studiously avoiding the necessity of glancing in the direction of Mr. Davlin, she glided from the room.
And so the news fell in Madeline's home, and its inmates were affected no more than this:
With Cora a renewal of tenderness toward "Dear John," and an increased stateliness toward Miss Arthur and the servants. More deference on Miss Arthur's part towards her brother, and less on his part toward her, as the possibility of being obliged to ask a small loan faded away into the past of empty purses and closed up coffers.
Lucian took upon himself the responsibility of visiting the city and calling at St. Mary's, there to be reassured of the fact that one Martha Grey had died within its walls and been buried.