an that!" muttered the doctor to himself, but, fortunately,
Brian did not hear. And at that moment a slender woman's figure appeared
at the end of the corridor; it hesitated, moved slowly forward, and then
approached them hastily.

"Is Mrs. Luttrell ill?" asked Angela.

She had a candle in her hand, and the beams fell full upon her soft,
white dress and the Eucharis lily in her hair. She had twisted a string
of pearls three times round her neck--it was an heirloom of great value.
The other ornaments were all Richard's gifts; two broad bands of gold
set with pearls and diamonds upon her arms, and the diamond ring which
had been the pledge of her betrothal. She was very pale, and her eyes
were large with anxiety as she asked her question of the two men, whom
her appearance had struck with dumbness. Brian turned away with a
half-audible groan. Doctor Muir looked at her intently from beneath his
shaggy, grey eyebrows, and did not speak.

"I know there is something wrong, or you would not stand like this
outside Mrs. Luttrell's door," said Angela, with a quiver in her sweet
voice. "And Richard is not here! Where is Richard?"

There was silence.

"Something has happened to Richard? Some accident--some----"

She stopped, looked at Brian's averted face, and shivered as if an icy
wind had passed over her. Doctor Muir took the candle from her hand,
then opened his lips to speak. But she stopped him. "Don't tell me," she
said. "I am going to his mother. I shall learn it in a moment from her
face. Besides--I know--I know."

The delicate tinting had left her cheeks and lips; her eyes were
distended, her limbs trembled as she moved. Doctor Muir stood aside,
giving her the benefit of keen professional scrutiny as she passed; but
he was satisfied. She was not a woman who would either faint or scream
in an emergency. She might suffer, but she would suffer in silence
rather than add by word or deed one iota to the burden of suffering that
another might have to bear. Therefore, Doctor Muir let her enter the
room in which the widowed mother wept, and prayed in his heart that
Angela Vivian might receive the news of her bereavement in a different
spirit from that shown by Mrs. Luttrell.

The noise of shuffling feet, of muffled voices, of stifled sobs, reached
the ears of the watchers in the corridor from another part of the house.
Doctor Muir had sent a messenger to bid the men advance with their sad
burden to a side door which open