"What did you say, ma'am?" asked the man, not hearing the low words.
"Nothing," she answered. "I thank you for your information," and staggered down the steps into the street again.
"Dead, dead!" she kept moaning to herself as she staggered along the street in white, tearless despair. "Papa is dead! and died of a broken heart for me. Oh, I was not worth such devotion!"
Her mind was so full of this terrible blow that had fallen upon her that she could think of nothing else, until suddenly she saw that the brief winter twilight was settling fast over everything. Then a terror of the night and cold took hold of her. She thought of her husband.
"They are all gone—papa and the rest," she murmured; "I have no one but Lawrence now. I will go to him."
The thought seemed to invest him with added tenderness and dearness. She hastened her footsteps, and before long she stood in front of the splendid mansion where Captain Ernscliffe lived, and which he had refurnished in splendid style for his fair young bride. The windows were closed as if the house was deserted, but she went up the steps and rang the bell. A woman servant answered the summons.
"Is Captain Ernscliffe at home?" asked Queenie, in a faint and trembling voice.