“Has anything happened to Uncle Tom?” she asked in a low voice.
The other shook her head quickly. “Forgive me, dear child! Of course your thoughts naturally fled to your adopted father. No, no! As far as I know, Tom Fairfield is quite, quite well. No—the news I have to break to you came in a telegram after you had gone this morning. I felt sure you would not mind my opening the telegram?”
She paused.
Lily stared at her. A telegram for her? But there was no one who could have anything to telegraph to her about, excepting Uncle Tom!
“The telegram,” went on Aunt Cosy slowly, impressively, “was to tell you that Miss Rosa Fairfield is dead.”
“Cousin Rosa dead?” repeated Lily mechanically.
She was very much surprised and yet Uncle Tom and Aunt Emmeline had always been expecting Miss Fairfield’s death, talking about it as if it was likely to happen soon, for the old lady was much over eighty.
Yesterday, nay, this morning, the news would have excited and moved her, but what was Miss Rosa Fairfield’s death compared with what had happened in the last hour—to that great coming of love which was still absorbing her whole being?
“Here is the telegram.”
The girl put down the candle which she had still in her hand, and opened out the piece of paper. Yes, there it was in printed characters: “Miss Rosa Fairfield died yesterday morning. You are her residuary legatee, but no necessity for you to return. Letter follows.—Arnold Bowering.”