Her tears flowed fast at the thought.
"They have already killed mine."
Michael's face was very stern.
Olérie looked up in startled wonder.
"Your father, M'nsieur?—the English M'nsieur who laughed and sang always?"
"Yes."
He turned his face away, afraid to read pity in her eyes. It was not pity he needed just then.
His father was dead.
The thought filled him with infinite horror and infinite relief.
The Berrington honour was safe.