"I have only you left, Lawrence," she said, mournfully.
"I will be father, mother, sister, husband—everything to you, my darling," he answered, fondly, as he drew her hand in his arm.
"Put me in the carriage now," she said. "I am very weary. I must go home."
"You will have to be present at the inquest to-morrow. Did you know that?" he said.
"Yes, I will be there. Good-night, Lawrence," she said, putting her hand out from the carriage window.
He clasped and kissed it, then after watching the carriage out of sight, went back to where the mourners kept their weary vigil by the side of the beautiful woman who had loved him so fondly and fatally.
[CHAPTER XXXIII.]
All London rang with the romantic facts that were elicited at the inquest over the body of poor, murdered Sydney, but though the examination was conducted with the utmost strictness, and every available witness was interrogated, no light was thrown upon the matter that could lead to a conviction of the murderer.
Everyone who heard the tragic story of how Sydney came to her death, thought that Madame Reine De Lisle's evidence would certainly furnish some satisfactory clew to the enemy who had sought her life. To their surprise and consternation, she declared herself utterly ignorant in the matter.