Jean passed her hand across her eyes like one who has seen some bright light of surpassing radiance. “Tell me, Claire,” she said at last, tremulously. “Tell me...” She broke off, unable to manage her voice. “I’ll read you what Lady Anne says,” replied Claire quickly. “After writing that Nesta is dead and Nick and Blaise are coming here, she goes on: ‘Poor Nesta! One cannot help feeling sorry for her--killed so suddenly and so tragically. And yet such a death seems quite in the picture with her lawless, wayward nature! She was shot, Claire, shot in the Boundary Woods by a Frenchman who had apparently followed her to England for the express purpose. It appears he met her at Château Varigny, in the days when she was posing as Madame de Varigny’s niece, and fell violently in love with her. Of course Nesta could not marry him, and equally of course the Frenchman--he was the Vicomte de Chassaigne--did not know that she had a husband already. So, naturally, he hoped eventually to win her, and Nesta, (who, as you know, would flirt with the butcher’s boy if there were no one else handy) encouraged him and allowed him to make love to her to his heart’s content. Then, after her return to Staple, he learned of her marriage, and, furious at having been so utterly deceived, he followed. He must have watched her very carefully for some days, as he apparently knew her favourite walks, and waylaid her one afternoon in the woods. What passed between them we shall never know, for Chassaigne killed her and then immediately turned the revolver on himself. Blaise and Nick heard the shots and rushed down to the Boundary Woods where the shots had sounded--you’ll know where I mean, the woods that lie along the border between Willow Ferry and Staple. There they found them. Nesta was dead, and de Chassaigne dying. He had just strength enough to confide in Blaise all that I have written. I am writing to you, because I think it might come as too great a shock to Jean as you say she is still so far from strong. You must tell her----” Jean interrupted the reading with a shout of laughter. “Oh, Claire! Claire! You blessed infant! I suppose all those preliminary remarks of yours about ‘a letter from Lady Anne’ and the ‘news’ it contained were by way of preparing me for the shock--‘breaking the news’ in fact?” “Yes,” admitted Claire, flushing a little. Jean rocked with laughter--gay, spontaneous laughter such as Claire had not heard issue from her lips since the day when Madame de Varigny had come to Staple. “And you just about succeeded in frightening me to death!” continued Jean. “Oh, Claire, Claire, you adorable little goose, didn’t you know that good news never kills?” “I didn’t feel at all sure,” returned Claire, laughing a little, too, in spite of herself. “You’ve looked lately as though it wouldn’t take very much of anything--good or bad--to kill you.”