"You say Mrs. Cumberland is dead!" had been madam's next words to Mr. North.
"Yes, she's dead. It has been terribly sudden."
"What did she want with you?" resumed madam, her voice lowered almost to a whisper; and, but that Mr. North was not an observant man, he might have seen her very lips grow white with some dread suspense.
"I don't know what she wanted," he replied--"unless it was a promise that I would take care of Miss Adair. She was almost past speaking when I went up to her; things had made me late, madam."
"Did she--did she---- By the commotion that woman, Jelly, made, one would have supposed her mistress had some great secret to impart," broke off madam. "Had she?"
"Had who?" asked Mr. North, rather losing the thread of the dialogue.
"Mrs. Cumberland," said madam, with a slight stamp. And, in spite of her assumed carelessness, she watched her husband's face for the answer as if she were watching for one of life or death. "Did she impart to you any--any private matter?"
"She had none to impart, madam, that I am aware of. I shouldn't think she had. She rambled in her talk a bit, as the dying will do; about our old days, and about the anonymous letter that killed Edmund. There was nothing else, except that she wanted me to take temporary charge of Miss Ellen Adair, until we can hear from her father."
Mr. North was too simply honest to deceive, and madam believed him. Her old arrogance resumed its sway as fear died out.
"What did she tell you about the father?"