begins to fill the faithful servant's heart.

"Miss Inez!" he cries out, "you _must_ come--they are waiting for you
below. There is no one here but you--Sir Victor is away. Sir Victor--"

His voice breaks; he takes out his handkerchief and sobs like a child.

"My dear young master! My dear young master! He loved the very ground
she walked on. Oh, who is to tell him this?"

She rises slowly now, like one who is cramped, and stiff, and cold.
She looks at the old man. In her eyes there is a blind, dazed sort of
horror--on her face there is a ghastliness no words can describe.

"Who is to tell Sir Victor?" the butler repeats. "It will kill
him--the horror of it. So pretty and so young--so sweet and so good.
Oh, how could they do it--how could they do it!"

She tries to speak once more--it seems as though her white lips cannot
shape the words. Old Hooper looks up at her piteously.

"Tell us what is to be done, Miss Inez," he implores; "you are mistress
here now."

She shrinks as if he had struck her.

"Shall we send for Sir Victor first?"

"Yes," she says, in a sort of whisper, "send for Sir Victor first."