Her training stood her in good stead, and enabled her to go subconsciously through the routine duties of her day. She did not put off lunch when her husband failed to return, but ate it in solitary state, and heartily—recognising that it was always her duty to sustain her body. Her soul, however, was very far away. In her inmost heart she knew that Ivor Restormel was dead. She did not dare to face the knowledge and understand it, but it was there, gnawing, persistent. She steeled herself to bear the terrible news that Jim and Kingston must soon be bringing back. And lunch must be kept hot for them. As the hours went by and brought no certainty to end her growing suspense, the pandemonium of clamouring voices in Gundred’s brain grew louder, more confused, more frightening. She seemed on the very edge of something very horrible—she, the favourite, the chosen, the glorified of Heaven. Something very horrible was surging into sight. In another moment she would see it. Terror—mysterious, ghastly—seized and gripped her. Then in the silence she heard approaching footsteps. The Horror was at hand. Gundred rose, pale and trembling, exerting all her forces, even in this last moment, to preserve the outward decorum of her demeanour. The door opened, and her husband came into the room. She stared at him in dumb dread. For a moment he could command no words. In silence his eyes met hers. His voice was low and husky and shattered, when at last he had gathered strength to speak.
‘Gundred,’ he whispered—‘Gundred....’
She interrupted him. Now, in the fulfilment of her destiny, a dreadful courage flowed back to her.
‘Something terrible has happened,’ she said; ‘tell me quickly.’
He was too busy with his own grief to notice that she seemed prepared for what she was about to hear.
‘The dam,’ he answered—‘the dam. It broke. It burst as soon as they had gone down.’
Gundred clasped her hands tightly to prevent their trembling from being observed. She spoke as if in a dream.
‘And Ivor,’ she asked, unconsciously using the Christian name—‘Ivor, is he safe?’
Kingston laughed bitterly.
‘Safe?’ he cried—‘safe? Ivor is dead. They are all dead. I waited till they had got the bodies up. The flood soon subsided, and the men were able to get down and find the bodies. That is why I waited.’