in a tone that was
neither of question nor of exclamation.

Dimsdale bent his head. "He died at half-past three, my lady."

He had the telegram in his hand. Anne took it from him and moved very
quietly to the window.

Mutely the old man stood and watched her in the silence, thankful for her
composure. He was himself severely shaken, and the ordeal of telling her
had been no light one.

But as the silence still continued he began to grow uneasy again. He
wondered if he ought to go, if she had forgotten to dismiss him. Her
stately head was bent over the paper, which never crackled or stirred in
her hand. There began to be something terrible, something fateful, in
her passivity. Old Dimsdale shivered, and took the liberty of breaking
the silence.

"Would your ladyship wish a message to be sent to Baronmead?"

She stirred at that, moved sharply as one suddenly awakened. Her face was
quite white, but her eyes were alight, curiously vital, with a glitter
that was almost of horror.

"To Baronmead!" she said, a queer note of sharpness in her voice. "No,
certainly not, most certainly not!"

And there she stopped, stopped dead as though struck dumb. In the garden
behind her, down among the lilac trees, a bird had begun to sing,
eagerly, voluptuously, thrillingly, with a rapture as of the full
spring-tide of life.

Anne stood for a space of many seconds and listened, her white face
upraised, her eyes wide and shining.

And then suddenly her attitude changed. She put her hands over her face
and tottered blindly from the open window.

Dimsdale started to support her, but she needed no support. In a
moment she was looking at him again, but with eyes from which all
light had faded.

"I must write some messages at once," she said. "One of the grooms must
take them. No, I shall not send to Mrs. Errol to-night. I wish to be
alone--quite alone. Please admit no one. And--yes--tell them to pull down
the blinds, and--shut all the windows!"

Her voice quivered and sank. She stood a moment, collecting herself,
then walked quietly to the door.

"Come to me in ten minutes for those telegrams," she said. "And after
that, remember, Dimsdale, I am not to be disturbed by anyone."

And with that she passed out, erect and calm, and went up to her room.

CHAPTER II

THE WORKER OF MIRACLES

"I want to know!" said Capper.

He had said it several times during a muddy two-mile tramp from Baronford
Station, and he said it