"My son I my son! that should have been. Our angel is gone--gone!"
Delmé tried to speak, but his tongue clove to his mouth, and the hysteric globe rose to his throat.
Suddenly he heard the sound of wheels, and of heavy footsteps on the stairs.
He imprinted a kiss on the old woman's forehead--it was his farewell for ever!--gave her to the care of the maid servant--and rushed from the room.
He was stopped on the landing of the staircase by the coffin of her he loved so well. The bearers stopped for an instant; they felt that this was no common greeting. Part of the pall was already turned back. Delmé removed its head with trembling hand.
"Julia Vernon. ætate 22."
He dropped the velvet with a groan, and was only saved from falling by the timely aid of the old butler, whose face was as sorrowful as his own.
But there was a duty yet to be performed, and Delmé followed the corpse.
The first mourning coach was just drawn up. An intended occupant had already his foot on the step. "This place is mine!" said Sir Henry in a hollow voice.
The cortege proceeded; and Delmé, giddy and confused, heard solemn words spoken over his affianced one, and he waited, till even the coffin could be discerned no more.