How would it be now? What should she do? Oh, if only she had not encouraged him to say more, for without encouragement, now whispered the serpent in her heart, he would certainly not have said so much. "Good God," thought poor Roma, in her anguish and self-horror, "what a selfish wretch I am! What shall I do? How shall I bear it?" The words uttered aloud recalled her somewhat to herself. She was hastening to the house, intent on burying self at least for the present--on seeing in what way she could be of use to others, when Mr Thurston suddenly re-appeared. He came out by the hall door, hastened up to her quickly but without speaking. He was deadly pale, and when close beside her he seemed to move his lips once or twice before any sound was audible. Then at last he spoke. "Roma," he said, "wait a moment. There is no hurry. Everything has been done. They have sent for doctors and all. It," he stopped, and seemed to gasp for breath, "it happened near the Chilworth lodge. I am just going there. I only came out to tell you. Floss's version was not quite correct. Roma," he stopped again, "it is even worse--forgive me, I cannot help saying so--it is not Beauchamp. It--it is Eugenia?" The last words were hardly audible, they came with a sort of a sob. For once in his life Gerald was utterly unmanned. But Roma heard them only too plainly. "Eugenia!" she cried, her voice rising almost into a scream; "oh no, Mr Thurston, not Eugenia. You do not mean she is _dead_? Say, oh, do say it is a mistake," she clasped her hands together in wild entreaty; "you _must_ say it is a mistake." He looked at her with unutterable pity, but shook his head. "I cannot say so," he replied; "from what I was told it seems only too certain. But I am going there at once. Will you come? no, perhaps you had better not. I will let you know immediately what I find. It _may_ not be so bad. Roma, dearest Roma, do not lose heart so." He would have put his arm round her, but she eluded his grasp. "Don't touch me," she said, wildly, "you don't know how wicked I am. It is true--I feel it is true. Oh, Eugenia! God forgive me. I think my punishment is greater than I can bear," and before her lover could stop her she had rushed into the house. For a moment Gerald gazed after her in distress and bewilderment, half doubting if he had heard aright. "She does not know what she is saying," he decided. "My poor Roma, the shock has been too much for her; but I cannot stay," and at a rapid pace he set off across the park in the direction of the scene of the frightful disaster. Upstairs, meanwhile, Roma, locked into her own room, "matter-of-fact, easy-going" Roma--Roma, "into whose composition entered no tragic elements," Gerald Thurston's light-hearted betrothed of one short hour ago, was passing through an agony of remorse, a very fiery furnace of misery, such as falls to the lot of few women of her healthy, happy nature. VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER TEN.