"Are you awake, Eleanor?"
"Yes. I wish I could sleep on."
"There's news."
"News! What sort of news?" said Eleanor, feeling that none concerned her.
"It's bad news—and yet—for you—it is good news."
"What is it, child? Speak."
"Lady Rythdale—she is dead."
Eleanor raised herself on her elbow and stared at Julia. "How do you know? how do you know?" she said.
"A messenger came to tell us—she died last night. The man came a good while ago, but—"
She never finished her sentence; for Eleanor threw herself out of bed, exclaiming, "I am saved! I am saved!"—and went down on her knees by the bedside. It was hardly to pray, for Eleanor scarce knew how to pray; yet that position seemed an embodiment of thanks she could not speak. She kept it a good while, still as death. Julia stood motionless, looking on.