Alice, by her very presence, her calm acceptance of life as it shaped itself, soothed Isabelle's restlessness, suggested trust and confidence.
"You are a dear," she whispered to her cousin. "I am so glad you are to be near me in St. Louis!"
CHAPTER XIII
Isabelle saw the fat headlines in the Pittsburg paper that the porter brought her,—"Congressman Darnell and his wife killed!" The bodies had been found at the bottom of an abandoned quarry. It was supposed that during a thunder-storm the night before, as he was driving from Torso to his farm in company with his wife, the horses had become uncontrollable and had dashed into the pit before Darnell could pull them up. He had just taken his seat in Congress. Isabelle remembered that he called the day before she left Torso, and when she had congratulated him on his election, had said jokingly: "Now I shall get after your husband's bosses, Mrs. Lane. We shan't be on speaking terms when next we meet." He seemed gay and vital. So it had ended thus for the tempestuous Kentuckian….
John was waiting for her at the station in Torso, where she was to break the journey. His face was eager and solicitous. He made many anxious inquiries about her health and the journey. But she put it all to one side.
"Tell me about the Darnells. Isn't it dreadful!"
"Yes," he said slowly, "it is very bad." Lane's voice was grave, as if he knew more than the published report.
"How could it have happened,—he was such a good driver? He must have been drunk."
"Tom Darnell could have driven all right, even if he had been drunk. I am afraid it's worse than that."
"Tell me!"