"Oh," she whispered, on a long breath, "I understand. And now—now where is he?" and her fingers closed on his convulsively. "Now?" Her voice rose.
Helplessly Simon met her look and his jaw hung.
"He is dead," she said, and relaxed her hold.
Seeing that she had guessed all through the marvellous second-sight of love, Simon told her the story briefly, striving, however, to lessen its sadness by relating it in a voice soothing as the ripple of a stream.
"And directions came to-day from the mother," he concluded, "so St. Ives can start with the—the boy, to-morrow morning early. There's a milk train passes through here at five; it will be flagged. In that way St. Ives will make good connections. As for Mrs. St. Ives—" Simon might have been telling her any news, save that he hastened his speech a little as he struck into this new subject—"she goes along too. She will stop in the city, however, for the John Street place is all ready for occupancy and it seemed wisest— My darling Rachel! my own reasonable brave girl!" he cried. "You know you always said the lad was not quite right mentally and he certainly had that air; the servants all remarked it."
From her closed eyes, over her white cheeks, her tears rolled steadily. "Poor, poor André," she whispered.
She knew—she guessed all. She remembered praising the organ attachment to André. And later he had witnessed that mad meeting between her and Emil in the garden. As she imagined the boy, lost, wandering, inflamed with jealousy; remorse intolerable and overwhelming filled her. She had driven him to the desperate act.
Never the less Simon's gravest apprehensions were relieved. Almost with the first glimmer of returning consciousness she had divined the truth and it had not wrecked her, for after that first rain of tears, the strange and lofty look of peace returned to her face. André had been unhappy; now he was no longer so. His need of her guidance had been imperative; now that need no longer existed. Dear heart, dear, simple, clinging soul! And the comforting comparison struck her of a little lost child with its hand safely locked at last in the hand of the All-Father.
She spoke no more until evening; then, as if pursuing a subject that had just been mentioned:
"And Emil will go with him? He will see André's mother?"