No one observed that change of countenance. The moment was a solemn one; and even those who did not really feel its solemnity, affected to do so.
At the last instant, when the iron doors of the mausoleum closed with a clanging sound upon the new inmate of that dark abode, Honoria's fortitude all at once forsook her. One long cry, which was like a shriek wrung from the spirit of despair, broke from her colourless lips, and in the next moment she had sunk fainting upon the ground before those inexorable doors.
No sympathizing eyes had watched her looks, or friendly arm was stretched forth in time to support her. But when she lay lifeless and unconscious on the sodden grass, some touch of pity stirred the hearts of the two brothers, Lionel and Douglas Dale.
The elder, Lionel, stepped forward, and lifted that lifeless form from the ground. He carried the unconscious widow to the carriage, where he seated her.
Sense returned only too quickly to that tortured brain. Honoria Eversleigh opened her eyes, and recognized the man who stood by her side.
"I am better now," she said. "Do not let my weakness cause you any trouble. I do not often faint; but that last moment was too bitter."
"Are you really quite recovered? Can I venture to leave you?" asked Lionel Dale, in a much kinder tone than he had employed before in speaking to his uncle's widow.
"Yes, indeed, I have quite recovered. I thank you for your kindness," murmured Honoria, gently.
Lionel Dale went back to the carriage allotted to himself and his brother. On his way, he encountered Reginald Eversleigh.
"I have heard it whispered that my uncle's wife was an actress," said Reginald. "That exhibition just now was rather calculated to confirm the idea."