Silence for a few seconds: the cocks are still crowing, the pigeons courting, the cat purring on the window-sill: Nature is fond of these horrible contrasts.
Presently she speaks again: "Why was not I sent for before?" she asks in a rough, harsh whisper.
"We telegraphed for you yesterday morning, the instant that we found there was any danger," he replies, speaking very gently, but wincing a little under the reproach implied in her question.
"And it did not reach me till this morning. If I had had it when I ought, I suppose I should have been in time to see him," she says, with apathy, looking away towards the misty hill.
"He sent you his love," says Brandon, struggling again with that same breaking in his voice. "Dear fellow! he was quite happy!"
"Was he?" she says, with the same vacant look. "I'll go to him." As she speaks, she rises and moves towards the door.
"You had better not," he says hastily, laying his hand on her arm.
"Why?" inquires she, looking at him with perfect calmness; "are you afraid of my fainting or going into hysterics? You need not be; it is only that I am not the least sorry that Jack is dead, and that I want to be."
"It is not that," he answers, earnestly; "but—but—you know, dear, that it is a terribly infectious complaint."
"Is it?" she answers, a ray of animation lighting up her haggard face. "I'm glad; perhaps God will let me catch it!"