"No, I have only just arrived. How are all my friends—your sister and the Brantwells?" said Willard, taking the proffered seat.
"All well; though Sibyl has been worrying herself to a skeleton about that sad affair on the island. You have heard of it, I suppose?"
"No; what sad affair?" said Willard, with a start.
"Why, the death of little Christie, to be sure! It is very singular you have not heard of it. The papers are all full of it; but—good heavens! my dear fellow—what is the matter? are you ill?" said Captain Campbell, rising in alarm.
Reeling, as though he had received a spear-thrust through his heart, Willard Drummond sprang to his feet, and with a face deadly white, grasped his friend by the arm, and said, in a choking voice:
"Dead, did you say? Christie dead? How? when? where? Of what did she die?"
"Really, Drummond, this agitation is most unaccountable," said Captain Campbell, slowly, and in extreme surprise.
"Dead! dead!" said Drummond, unheeding his words. "Great Heaven!—speak and tell me—how was it? when was it? Where did she die?"
"On the island. This is most extraordinary," replied Captain Campbell, looking at the pale, agitated face before him, in still increasing surprise.
"Oh, Captain Campbell!" exclaimed Willard, in bitter sorrow, "if you call yourself my friend, do not keep me in suspense now—tell me all. How did she die?"