I glared at him.
"Miss Warren has gone with Sir John Johnson to Boston," he said, dryly.
My eyes never left him.
"Is that why you cried out?" he asked, curiously. "Miss Warren left us a week ago. Had you only known her she would have been happy, for she has slept for weeks on the couch yonder."
"Why—why did she go?"
"I cannot tell you the reasons," he said, gravely.
"When will she return?"
With a strength that came from God knows where, I dragged myself upright and caught him by the hand.
"She is dead!" I whispered. "She is dead, and all in this house know it save I who love her!"