Lord Dunsmore had been absent from Southampton for some days. He was visiting at the admiral’s at Portsmouth, and the sisters did not at all expect to see him, when one afternoon, a fly stopped at their door, and he, issuing from it, was shown into the house. There was something strange, excited, sad in his look, which startled both ladies, and made them glance anxiously at him; yet he seemed trying to speak as usual.
“We did not know you were come back,” said Hilary.
“I am but just arrived by train from Portsmouth. I wished—that is, I undertook to bring you word”—he paused; she looked, but could not speak. “The Erratic arrived at Spithead at day-break.”
The beatings at Hilary’s heart choked her; she leaned back in her chair, white as the cambric she held in her hands. She felt, she knew there was more; there was bad news behind. He started up.
“A glass of water, Gwyneth,” exclaimed he.
Mrs. Hepburn tasted the water, and then whispered—
“Go on.”
“I saw both your brother and your husband; here is a note for you!”
Hilary caught it; it was from Maurice, and she noted Lord Dunsmore change color, nor did he tell her not to be alarmed; so there was cause for fear! She forced herself, however, to look at the note.
“Dearest Hilary,