"There is a great deal more. But, my dear Mrs. Dorriman, pray compose yourself; pray do not excite yourself. Mr. Drayton is ill, that is true, but has no one told you anything else?" "What more can any one have to say?" Mrs. Dorriman asked, struggling for self-command, and feeling as though it was beyond her. Mrs. Wymans paused; she had believed her authority to be good, and she had so completely credited every word she heard--we are all of us so apt to believe the very worst part of a friend's misfortune--that now, finding that Mrs. Dorriman knew nothing, she began to ask herself, when it was too late, if the story could be altogether true; perhaps it had been exaggerated. "Perhaps," she said slowly, "as you have heard nothing----" Mrs. Dorriman turned upon her with a fire and vivacity that fairly astonished her. "Mrs. Wymans, you have said enough to fill me with apprehension; you say the child is dead. It is strange we do not know this, my brother and I; and you add, in a tone of great meaning, it did not die a natural death. What do you mean?" Thus brought to bay, Mrs. Wymans blurted out suddenly what she had heard. "It is said Mr. Drayton is mad, and that he killed the child. For goodness sake, Mrs. Dorriman, do not faint!" she exclaimed, noticing the deadly pallor of the poor little woman before her. "I----am not going to faint," said poor Mrs. Dorriman, in that far-away voice that speaks of the cruellest mental agitation; "but you have told me a horrible story. I do not believe it!" she continued, with a sob; "but it is horrible, and I must go--I must telegraph at once." "Yes, do telegraph," said Mrs. Wymans, eagerly; "can I not take the telegram with me? It will hardly be a moment out of my way." "Thank you, no," said Mrs. Dorriman, coldly. How little we love the bearer of bad tidings! "What will you do about Mr. Sandford?" continued the obtuse woman, anxious to be in the way of whatever there was, and not seeing that Mrs. Dorriman was dying to get rid of her; "do make me of use. Shall I go to him? A stranger sometimes breaks bad news better than a very near relation." Mrs. Dorriman's patience was at an end. "You must prove that your news is true," she said, "before venturing to condole with my brother or with me; and Mrs. Wymans--we know each other very slightly, and I must ask you to be so very kind as to leave me."