Mrs. Verulam bit her lips, and looked very much as if she wanted to burst out crying.
"There is no hope," he went on. "There is no light anywhere. All is darkness."
The sun was pouring down its golden beams, but no matter.
"It is strange," Mr. Rodney pursued, staring very hard at nothing with glazed eyes. "It is strange to think that two lives, at one time happy, peaceful, even honoured, can be broken up in an instant, and turned to dust and ashes in the twinkling of an eye!"
"My life is not turned to dust and ashes in the twinkling of——Oh, do please say something more cheerful!"
"Cheerful!" cried the owner of Mitching Dean in hollow tones—"cheerful!"
And he gave vent to several very distressing groans. Mrs. Verulam leaned back and shut her eyes. Fatigue and excessive heat, combined with unexpected groans, may well break even the proudest spirit. Had Mr. Bush been at hand to inspire confidence, and to impersonate the true, grand life, Mrs. Verulam might possibly have plucked up courage. As it was, she felt very miserable, and was devoured with a longing to give the Countess of Sage into the hands of Chinese torturers, whom she had read of in a book of travels as exquisitely expert in their trade. After a quarter of an hour's pause, partially filled in by Mr. Rodney's exclamations of unutterable despair, she made a great effort to compose herself, and remarked bravely:
"This is what I have wished for."
Mr. Rodney punctuated the sentence with a piteous outcry.