I was past being angry. My thoughts did not take in the situation at the manor-house all at once; instead I found myself thinking of the Mariner’s Rest and of Ruth’s treatment there. Something in Pierre’s face bade me give up hope, as if a heavy blow had fallen. Suddenly I turned and caught him by the shoulders with so quick a motion that he uttered a startled cry. “Tell me, Pierre. For God’s sake make short work of this. What has happened to her?” Instead of answering me, the kind hearted fellow burst into tears. “I cannot,” he wailed. “Oh, I cannot; it will break your heart.” “It is past that, Pierre. Is she dead?” “You have guessed it. God forgive me that I have to say it.” “Pierre,” said I. “Go over there by the bridge and wait for me till I come to you. I shall follow you soon.” When I was next aware of outside things, Pierre stood by my side with his hand upon my shoulder. “You said you would come to me soon and you didn’t. That is why I came back.” He put out his hand kindly. “It is hard work to bear ill news. I would have spared you if I could.” We walked silently around the small lake by which we had stopped. I felt in a daze and was more than once aware of the pressure of Pierre’s hand as he guided me gently by some obstruction over which I might have fallen. Under the first weight of this piece of news, I felt only grief at the death of my beloved sister. It was not until I had in a measure recovered my self-control that I began to think of the manner in which she had met her death and of the vague hints about the patroon that Pierre had dropped. Then, with the pain of comprehension when it comes too late, I recalled the sneering smile upon the patroon’s face as he accosted me in the crowd before the Stadt Huys. “But we shall meet again,” I cried aloud, unconsciously repeating his words to me. “He knew it when he spoke to me, and he sneered at me.” I turned upon Pierre. “Tell me further. What had he to do with her death?” To this question Pierre would give no answer. He could hardly say, he said. My heart sank, for I saw from his face that he was afraid to tell the truth. “Come back with me, Monsieur Le Bourse. Let me take you to Lady Marmaduke. She knows the whole story. She will tell you.” Impatient as I was, I was content to wait. The blow that had fallen upon me was so great that I could scarcely think. A child could have led me. For the time being I had no will of my own. Pierre took me by the arm and led me forward. We had nearly reached the bridge on our return when the clatter of horse hoofs fell upon our ears along the road. “Hush,” said Pierre. “It is the patroon.” He drew me back behind some bushes, where we waited in silence the approach of a numerous armed cavalcade. CHAPTER VIII LADY MARMADUKE