“Sir Roger——” began Evelyn, wondering whether it would not have been better to put off telling her until the morning as she was in such a state of nerves. “Yes, what has happened?” Celia interposed in an agitated voice. “Darling, I don’t know how best to tell you. He’s dead.” “Dead!” Celia rose up, drawing away from her friend’s detaining arm, her whole body stiffening. “Yes; I’m afraid it’s very terrible. You had better know the worst. Philip found him with a wound on his forehead lying dead in the hall.” “In the hall!” Celia repeated after her, staring down with wild eyes, full of sick horror. She swayed suddenly and Evelyn only just caught her as she fainted. Evelyn lifted her into bed and used every effort to restore her to consciousness, but it was some little time before she came to herself. “Lie still,” ordered Evelyn as soon as she opened her eyes again. “There is no need for you to move.” “How did it happen?” asked Celia in an agonized whisper. “It’s horrible.” “Yes, it is, darling; Philip couldn’t tell me any more than just that he had found him. I don’t know anything more. Now if you will lie still I will go and tell your mother.” “Doesn’t she know?” “Not yet; I thought you would go and break it to her.” “Oh, I can’t!” cried Celia, beginning to cry. “No, I will. Just lie still; I’ll come back to you as soon as I can.” “Yes, please; I can’t bear it alone.” Evelyn had then bent and kissed her, and gone along to Lady Penterton’s room. She knocked on the door and then opened it gently, saying, “Aunt Eleanor!” She had invented this name years ago to express her affection for her friend’s mother. Lady Penterton’s voice answered her sharply, “Who’s that? What is it?” “It’s Evelyn,” the girl answered soothingly. “Evelyn? What is it you can want? What is it?” Evelyn crossed to the bedside in the darkness, and as gently as she could told the old lady, who clutched her nervously, her dismal news. The effect was as she rather feared; Lady Penterton, never robust, had been in feeble health for some time. Now she clung to Evelyn with all her strength and gave way to dry, gasping sobs, which were terrible to listen to. At one time she could hardly get her breath and Evelyn became seriously alarmed; but the paroxysm passed, and gradually she became calmer and allowed Evelyn to lay her back on her pillow. She began to speak between tears, which still shook her with their violence, of things in her married life of years ago, and of the time of her engagement. For a long time Evelyn sat beside her and endeavoured to soothe her; but it was not until her maid, who had now heard of the death, came in that Evelyn felt it possible to leave her. She had then come back, as she had promised, to Celia hoping that she would find her asleep and be able to get a little rest herself; but Celia was sitting up in her chair, wide-eyed, white and restless, and turned at once at her entrance, saying—