n his way back to
Dunstan's Wolde, which was miles away.

"Yes," he said, speaking aloud to himself, "I will go back and follow
his Grace of Marlborough for a while on his campaign--but in two years'
time I will come back--to Gloucestershire--and see what time has
wrought."

But to Flanders he did not go, nor did my Lord Duke of Marlborough see
him for many a day, for Fate, which had so long steadily driven him,
had ordained it otherwise. When he reached Dunstan's Wolde, on crossing
the threshold, something in the faces of the lacqueys about the
entrance curiously attracted his attention. He thought each man he
glanced at or spoke to looked agitated and as if there were that on his
mind which so scattered his wits that he scarce knew how to choose his
speech. The younger ones stammered and, trying to avoid his eye, seemed
to step out of his view as hastily as possible. Those of maturer years
wore grave and sorrowful faces, and when, on passing through the great
hall upon which opened the library and drawing-rooms he encountered the
head butler, the man started back and actually turned pale.

"What has happened?" his lordship demanded, his wonder verging in
alarm. "Something has come about, surely. What is it, man? Tell me! My
Lord Dunstanwolde--"

The man was not one whose brain worked quickly. 'Twas plain he lost
his wits, being distressed for some reason beyond measure. He stepped
to the door of the library and threw it open.

"My--my lord awaits your--your lordship--Grace," and then in an
uncertain and low voice he announced him in the following strange
manner:

"His--lordship--his Grace--has returned, my lord," he said.

And Roxholm, suddenly turning cold and pale himself, and seized upon by
a horror of he knew not what, saw as in a dream my lord Dunstanwolde
advancing towards him, his face ashen with woe, tears on his cheeks,
his shaking hands outstretched as if in awful pity.

"My poor Gerald," he broke forth, one hand grasping his, one laid on
his shoulder. "My poor lad--God help me--that I am no more fit to break
to you this awful news."

"For God's sake!" cried Gerald, and sank into the chair my lord drew
him to, where he sat himself down beside him, the tears rolling down
his lined cheeks.

"Both--_both_ your parents!" he cried. "God give me words! Both--both!
At Pisa where they had stopped--a malignant fever. Your mother
first--and within twelve hours your father! Praise Heaven they were not
p