"Drowned, drowned! Drowned and dead!" was the cry that went from
lip to lip, till it reached Lord Earle where he sat, trying to
soothe his weeping mother. "Drowned! Quite dead!" was the cry
that reached Lillian, in her sick room, and brought her down pale
and trembling. "Drowned and dead hours ago," were the words that
drove Lord Airlie mad with the bitterness of his woe.
They could not realize it. How had it happened? What had taken
her in the dead of the night to the lake?
They sent messengers right and left to summon doctors in hot
haste, as though human skill could avail her now.
"I must see her," said Lord Airlie. "If you do not wish to kill
me, let me see her."
They allowed him to enter, and Lord Earle and his mother went
with him. None in that room ever forgot his cry--the piercing
cry of the strong man in his agony--as he threw himself by the
dead girl's side.
"Beatrice, my love, my darling, why could I not have died for
you?"
And then with tears of sympathy they showed him how even in death
the white cold hand grasped his locket, holding it so tightly
that no ordinary foe could remove it.
Pages:
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462