The next day, when they met before the inquest, he showed the telegram to John, who, after glancing at it, thrust it back into his hand with a deprecating gesture.
“No; let her stay there. What is she to do in this wilderness of horror?”
“I have already written,” said Herold.
“To keep away?”
“To come.”
“You know best,” said John, hopelessly. “At any rate the news hasn’t killed her. I feared it would. I had long letters from Oliver and Julia this morning.”
“What do they say?”
John put his hand to his head. “I forget,” said he.
(To be concluded)
