"It is not Aunt Edith's fault. You know it is not, Nora. George, you know it also. She has cried very much to-day; and she asked long and long ago for the bull to be sent off. But he was not sent. Oh, George, I am so sorry! I wish I could have seen him before he died. There was no one I liked so well as Mr. Ryle."
"Will you have some tea?" asked Nora.
"No, I must not stay. Should Octave miss me she will tell of me, and then I should be punished. What do you think? Rupert displeased Cris in some way, and Miss Diana sent him to bed away from all the pleasure. It is a shame!"
"It is all a shame together, up at Trevlyn Hold—all that concerns Rupert," said Nora, not, perhaps, very judiciously.
"Nora, where did he die?" asked Maude, in a whisper. "Did they take him up to his bedroom when they brought him home?"
"They carried him in there," said Nora, pointing to the sitting room door. "He is lying there now."
"I want to see him," she continued.
Nora received the intimation dubiously.
"I don't know whether you had better," said she, after a pause.
"Yes, I must, Nora. What was that about the dog scratching a grave before the porch?"