"John!" she called, in a voice of anguish--"John--dear, dear friend!"
But the dying man made no sign. And as she lifted his hand to her lips--the love she had shown him so grudgingly in life speaking now undisguised through her tears and her despair--Sir James watched the gentle passage of the last breaths, and knew that all was done--the play over and the lights out.
CHAPTER XIX
A sad hurrying and murmuring filled the old rooms and passages of Beechcote. The village doctor had arrived, and under his direction the body of John Ferrier had been removed from the garden to the library of the house. There, amid Diana's books and pictures, Ferrier lay, shut-eyed and serene, that touch of the ugly and the ponderous which in life had mingled with the power and humanity of his aspect entirely lost and drowned in the dignity of death.
Chide and the doctor were in low-voiced consultation at one end of the room; Lady Lucy sat beside the body, her face buried in her hands; Marsham stood behind her.
Brown, the butler, noiselessly entered the room, and approached Chide.
"Please sir, Lord Broadstone's messenger is here. He thinks you might wish him to take back a letter to his lordship."
Chide turned abruptly.
"Lord Broadstone's messenger?"