In the valleys, the blackness of thick trees, the
gleam of rivers, the huge, lifeless factories; and beyond, the high,
silver edges, the sharp shadows of the moors.... The train slackened,
and the little Duchess woke at once.

"Ten minutes to three. Oh, Julie, here we are!"

The dawn was just coldly showing as they alighted. Carriages and
servants were waiting, and various persons whose identity and function
it was not easy to grasp. One of them, however, at once approached Julie
with a privileged air, and she perceived that he was a doctor.

"I am very glad that your grace has come," he said, as he raised his
hat. "The trouble with the Duke is shock, and want of sleep."

Julie looked at him, still bewildered.

"How long has my husband been ill?"

He walked on beside her, describing in as few words as possible the
harrowing days preceding the death of the boy, Delafield's attempts to
soothe and control the father, the stratagem by which the poor Duke had
outwitted them all, and the weary hours of search through the night,
under a drizzling rain, which had resulted, about dawn, in the discovery
of the Duke's body in one of the deeper holes of the river.

"When the procession returned to the house, your husband"--the speaker
framed the words uncertainly--"had a long fainting-fit. It was probably
caused by the exhaustion of the search--many hours without food--and
many sleepless nights. We kept him in his room all day. But towards
evening he insisted on getting up. The restlessness he shows is itself a
sign of shock. I trust, now you are here, you may be able to persuade
him to spare himself. Otherwise the consequences might be grave."

The drive to the house lay mainly through a vast park, dotted with stiff
and melancholy woods. The morning was cloudy; even the wild roses in the
hedges and the daisies in the grass had neither gayety nor color. Soon
the house appeared--an immense pile of stone, with a pillared centre,
and wings to east and west, built in a hollow, gray and sunless. The
mournful blinds drawn closely down made of it rather a mausoleum for the
dead than a home for the living.

At the approach of the carriage, however, doors were thrown open,
servants appeared, and on the steps, trembling and heavy-eyed, stood
Susan Delafield.

She looked timidly at Julie, and then, as they passed into the great
central hall, the two kissed each other with tears.

"He is in his room, waiting for you. The doctors pe