"You loved him—so—then?"
"Yes, I loved him," she answered, with quivering passion.
He glanced toward her again, but Stolliker could not quite determine what the expression in his quickly averted eyes could have been; whether pity, sorrow, remorse, or all three blended, but he distinctly saw the shiver that passed through the magnificent frame.
"I wish I could help you, but it is too late for that," he said, heavily. "Poor little girl! After all, Olney is to be envied, for at least you have loved him."
"You saw him—die?" she interrupted in a choking voice, utterly unable to keep silent and listen longer.
"No; he was—dead when—when I reached his side."
He had drawn himself up, stiffened, so to speak, as if nerving himself for a terrible trial.
"Then he left no message for me? Spoke no word?"
Pierrepont moved uneasily.
"He—he could not," he answered, hoarsely. "There was no time."