Part 37 (2/2)

”Dead!”

The word came in a low whisper, but the parted lips did not move nor the staring eyes change.

”My poor, poor Jess,” he whispered.

”Oh, Fred!”

A great wavering sigh escaped her, a sigh that ended in a sob, plaintive, wailing, sad. But still her eyes stared blankly.

”Sit down, Jess,” he said softly.

”No, no. Let me stand. Let me--I want to face it. Don't leave me, Fred, don't leave me.”

She swayed, and the staring eyes closed. He slipped his arm round her waist to support her and at the touch she came forward, flinging her arms round him as her head drooped upon his shoulder and she burst into a fit of wild, tempestuous weeping.

So he held her, his head bent upon hers, his arms supporting her. Not until the storm of sobs had abated did he speak.

”Sit down, now, Jess. You will be better resting,” he whispered.

”No, no,” she answered. ”No, no. Let me stay--a moment.”

A hum of voices came from the road outside, for the news, flying through the town, brought everybody out to tell and hear.

With one accord they gathered round the police-station, which was almost opposite the cottage, and stood in the road discussing the latest phase of the mystery, the phase which brought into it the note of tragedy.

Then someone remembered the cottage and who was in it, and pa.s.sed the word along. The loud voices were hushed as the men, actuated by the rough sympathy of the bush, quietly moved away so that the sound of their voices should not reach the woman on whom a fresh blow had fallen.

Bessie, hearing the noise, went out to ascertain the cause. Hearing what the news was, she rushed back into the cottage and precipitately burst into the sitting-room. As she opened the door, Harding signed to her to keep quiet.

”Here is Bessie, Jess. Will you stay with her?” he said.

She drew away from him slowly.

”No, don't go yet,” she answered. ”Tell me everything. I can hear it now.”

Bessie slipped out of the room and softly closed the door after her.

Mrs. Eustace took the chair Harding placed for her and he sat down by her.

”Who--did it?” she asked.

”No one knows yet,” he answered.

She looked at him quickly.

”Do they think--it was--himself?”

”No; it could not have been.”

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