"You must know. It was talked of enough."
"She died suddenly. I heard no more."
"Let it go at that," said my lord.
Miss Boyle observed him intently.
"I mean the manner of her death—did she speak of me?"
"Of you? No."
"And you—how did she leave you?"
"There was little enough passed!" replied my lord gloomily. "The Countess fell ill and died before she could be even bled. Why do we speak of it? It is not one of my most pleasant recollections."
"Forgive me," said Miss Boyle tenderly; "only sometimes it has weighed on me that she might have died bitterly reviling us—and, also, I am sorry for her. It is so terrible a thing, my lord, to die suddenly."
He gave her a sideways look. It was curious that she had not at once, like Susannah Chressham and most other people, guessed the meaning of my lady's tragic end, yet there could be no doubt that she was sincere.