Baskerville immediately wrote a note to Anne Clavering, asking that their engagement might be announced and also suggesting an immediate marriage. Within an hour came back an answer from Anne. In a few agitated lines she told him of her mother’s death. She did not ask Baskerville to come to her; but he, seeing that it was no time for small conventions, replied at once, saying that he would be at her house at twelve o’clock, and begged that she would see him. Elizabeth Darrell was the first person outside of Clavering’s family who knew that he was a free man. There had been no time to get a doctor for Mrs. Clavering, although several had been called. When they arrived, all was over. Elizabeth had seen the sudden shutting of the windows; she knew, almost to a moment, when Mrs. Clavering died. At seven o’clock in the morning Serena, with the morbid anxiety to communicate tragic news which is the characteristic of the African, came up to Elizabeth’s room full of what she had gleaned from the neighboring servants. Elizabeth listened and felt a sense of guilt enveloping her. Then, when General Brandon was dressed, he came up to her door to discuss the startling news, and his was the first card left for the Clavering family. On it the good soul had written:— “With heartfelt sympathy in the overwhelming sorrow which has befallen Senator Clavering and his family.” Elizabeth remained indoors all that day. She drew her window curtains together, so that she could not see the house which might have been hers, where had lived the dead woman of whom she had considered the spoliation. At twelve o’clock Baskerville came, and was promptly admitted into the Clavering house. There had been no time to remove the festal decorations. The Moorish hall was odorous with flowers; the mantels and even the hand–rail of the staircase were banked with them. Masses of tall palms made a mysterious green light through the whole of the great suite of rooms. The ceilings were draped with greenery, and orchids and roses hung from them. The huge ball–room was just as the dancers had left it, and everywhere were flowers, palms, and burnt–out candles on girandoles and candelabra. The servants, in gorgeous liveries, sat about, more asleep than awake; and over all was that solemn silence which accompanies the presence of that first and greatest of democrats, Death.