Carr; and I presume you can make no
objection to my hearing from him. The other--Maude, I have waited until
now to disclose its contents to you; I would not mar your happiness
yesterday."
She looked up at him. Something in his voice, a sad pitying tenderness,
caused her heart to beat a shade quicker. "It was a foreign letter,
Maude. I think you observed that. It bore the French postmark."
A light broke upon her. "Oh, Percival, it is about Robert! Surely he is
not worse!"
He drew her closer to him: not speaking.
"He is not dead?" she said, with a rush of tears. "Ah, you need not tell
me; I see it. Robert! Robert!"
"It has been a happy death, Maude, and he is better off. He was quite
ready to go. I wish we were as ready!"
Lord Hartledon took out the letter and read the chief portion of it to
her. One little part he dexterously omitted, describing the cause of
death--disease of the heart.
"But I thought he was getting so much better. What has killed him in this
sudden manner?"
"Well, there was no great hope from the first. I confess I have
entertained none. Mr. Hillary, you know, warned us it might end either
way."
"Was it decline?" she asked, her tears falling.
"He has been declining gradually, no doubt."
"Oh, Percival! Why did you not tell me at once? It seems so cruel to have
had all that entertainment yesterday! This is why you did not wish us to
dance!"
"And if I had told you, and stopped the entertainment, allowing the poor
little fellow to be christened in gloom and sorrow, you would have been
the first to reproach me; you might have said it augured ill-luck for the
child.
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