"I wonder who it can be!" Lady Markland said.

And when the boy resumed his talk she listened with inattention, trying
in vain to keep her interest fixed on what he was saying, making vague
replies, turning over a hundred possibilities in her mind, but by some
strange dulness, such as is usual enough in similar circumstances, never
thinking of the real cause. What danger could there be to Markland in a
drive of half a dozen miles, in the daylight; what risk in Mr. Warrender's
funeral? The sense that something which was not an ordinary visit was
coming grew stronger and stronger upon her, but of the news which was
about to reach her she never thought at all.

At last the door opened. She rose hastily, unable to control herself, to
meet it, whatever it was. It was not a ceremonious servant announcing a
visit, but Theo Warrender, pale as death itself, with a whole tragic
volume in his face, but speechless, not knowing, now that he stood
before her, what to say, who appeared in the doorway. He had hurried
off, bringing his mother's little brougham to carry the young wife to
her husband's bedside; but it was not until he looked into her face and
heard the low cry that burst from her that he realised what he had to
tell. He had forgotten that a man requires all his skill and no small
preparation to enable him to tell a young woman that her husband, who
left her in perfect health a few hours before, was now on the brink of
death. He stopped short on the threshold, awed by this thought, and only
stared at her, not knowing what to say.

"Mr. Warrender!" she said, with the utmost surprise; then, with growing
wonder and alarm, "You have come---- Something has happened!"

"Lady Markland--yes, there has been an accident. My mother--sent me with
the brougham. I came off at once. Will you go back with me? The horse is
very fast, and you can be there in half an hour."

This was all he could find to say. She went up to him, holding out her
hands in an almost speechless appeal. "Why for me? Why for me? What has
it got to do with me?"

He did not know how to answer her question. "Lady Markland!" he cried,
"your husband----" and said no more.

She was at the door of the brougham in a moment. She had not taken off
her garden hat, and she wanted no preparation. The child sprang to her
side, caught her arm, and went with her without a word or question, as
if that were undeniably his place. Everybody knew and remarked upon the
singu