The moon was shining clearly now. She could see the gaze that her companion turned for one moment over the tossing waste of waters. She caught the softly-whispered words, “Good-bye, dear love! good bye!” and a sudden burst of tears came to her relief; but Monica’s eyes were dry. As they entered the castle hall, they saw that the ill news had preceded them. Pale-faced servants, both men and women, stood awed and trembling, waiting, as it seemed, for their mistress. A sound as of hushed weeping greeted them as they entered. No one ever forgot the look upon Monica’s face as she entered her desolated home. It was far more sad in its unutterable calm than the wildest expression of grief could have been. Nobody dared to speak a word, save the old nurse who had tended Randolph from childhood. She stepped forward, the tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks. “Oh, my lady! my lady!” she sobbed. Monica paused, looked for one moment at the faithful servant; then bent her head, and kissed her. “Dear nurse,” she said gently, “you always loved him;” and then she passed quietly on to the music-room—the room that she and her husband had quitted together less than three hours before, and shut herself up there—alone. Beatrice dared not follow. She let Wilberforce take her upstairs, and tend her like a child, whilst they mingled their tears together over the brave young life cut short in its manhood’s strength and prime. Randolph’s nurse was no stranger to Beatrice, and it was easy for the good woman to speak with authority to one whom she had known as a child, force her to take some nourishment, and exchange wet garments for dry. She could not be induced to go to bed, exhausted though she was, but the wine and soup did her good, and the hearty burst of weeping had relieved her overcharged heart. She felt more like herself when, after an hour’s time, she went downstairs again; but, oh! what a different house it was from what it had been a few hours back! It was by that time eleven o’clock. Monica was still shut up in the music-room. Nothing had been heard of Haddon; she had hardly even given him a thought. She went down slowly to the hall, and found herself face to face with Tom Pendrill. He wore his hat and great coat. He had evidently just arrived in haste. As he removed the former she was startled at the look upon his face. She had not believed it capable of expressing so much feeling. “Beatrice,” he said hoarsely, “is it true?” He did not know he had called her by her Christian name, and she hardly noticed it at the moment. She only bent her head and answered: “Yes, it is true.” Together they passed into the lighted drawing-room, and stood on either side the glowing hearth, looking at each other fixedly. “Where is Monica?” “In the music-room, alone. They were there together when the guns began. It will kill her, I am certain it will!” “No,” answered Tom quietly; “she will not die. It would be happier for her if she could.”