“What does he mean?  What does he mean?” said the woman, after another dreadful pause.  “Why does he stand there, Phyllis, staring at me?  Why——­Oh, my God!  I see it—­I see it on his face—­my husband—­Stephen—­dead—­he is dead—­you came to bring the news to me.  Look, Phyllis, he cannot say ’No’—­he would say ‘No’ unless I had guessed the truth—­he would say it—­he would have some pity.  Is it the truth?  Man—­speak—­say yes, or no—­for God’s sake! for God’s sake!”

She had taken half a dozen rapid steps to him and grasped him by the arm, gazing into his face.

He bowed his head.

She flung his arm from her, and burst into a laugh.

“Ah, Phyllis!  I see it all now.  He was the man I loved—­I know it now—­he was the man I loved.  It was for him I cried out just now—­’Give him back to me—­give him back to me!’”

The wild shriek with which she cried the words the second time rang through the house.  She fell upon her knees, clutching at Phyllis’ hand as before, and then, making a motion as if about to rise, she fell back and lay with her white face turned to the ceiling, her white arms stretched limply out on each side of her like the arms of a crucified woman.

Servants came with restoratives.

CHAPTER XXXV.

IF GOD WOULD ONLY GIVE ME ANOTHER CHANCE!

“Poor creature!  Poor creature!” said Mr. Ayrton.  He had just returned from the room to which they had carried Ella.  Phyllis was lying on the sofa with her face down to the pillow.  “Poor creature!  No one could have had any idea that she was so attached to him!  She will be one of the richest women in England.  He fell down in the club between nine and ten.  His heart.  Sir Joseph was not surprised.  He said he had told him a short time ago that he had not six months to live.  He cannot have let his wife know.  Well, well, perhaps it was for the best.  His man came to me in a terrible state.  How was it to be broken to her?  I just managed to catch the last train.  He must have been worth over a million.  She will be one of the richest women in England.  Even in America a woman with three-quarters of a million is reckoned moderately well off.  Poor creature!  Ah! the shorn lamb!—­the wind is tempered.  ’In the midst of life—­’ Dear Phyllis! you must not allow yourself to break down.  Your sympathetic nature is hard to control, I know, but still—­oh, my child!”

But Phyllis refused to be comforted.  She lay sobbing on the pillow, and when her father put his arm about her and raised her, she put her head on his shoulder, crying: 

“He is gone from me forever—­he is gone from me forever!  Oh, I am the cruelest woman on earth!  It is not for her terrible blow that I am crying, it is because I have lost him—­I see it—­I have lost him!”

Her father became frightened.  What in the world could she mean by talking about the man being gone from her?  He had never heard of a woman’s sympathy extending to such limits as caused her to feel a personal deprivation when death had taken another woman’s husband.