"Now do you deny it?" Madge demanded. "Answer, and go!"
"I deny everything," he snarled hoarsely. "It is a forgery—a tissue of lies! Believe me, Madge! Don't spurn me! Don't cast me off! I will prove to you—"
"I say go!"
The girl's voice was as hard and cold as steel. She pointed to the door as Nevill made a step toward her. Her ravishing beauty, lost to him forever, maddened him. For an instant he was tempted to fly at her throat and bruise its loveliness. But just then a bell pealed loudly through the house. The front door was heard to open, and voices mingled with rapid steps. An elderly man burst unceremoniously into the room, and Nevill recognized Stephen Foster's clerk and shop assistant. Bad news was stamped on his agitated face.
"What is the matter, Hawkins?" Madge asked, breathlessly.
"Oh, how can I tell you, Miss Foster? It is terrible! Your father—"
"What of him?"
"He is dead! He shot himself in his office an hour ago. The police—"
The girl's cheeks turned to the whiteness of marble. She gave one cry of anguish, reeled, and fell unconscious to the floor. Mrs. Sedgewick rushed in, wringing her hands and wailing hysterically.
"See to your young mistress—she has fainted," Nevill said, hoarsely. "Fetch cold water at once."