After a few more inquiries concerning the patient, she let the doctor take his leave.  Then she stood looking at the outside of Lord Dymchurch’s letter, and wondering what might be its contents.  Beyond a doubt, they were of an explosive nature.  Whatever his excuse, Lord Dymchurch’s abrupt departure would enrage Lady Ogram.  Had he been refused by May?  Or had something come to pass which made it impossible for him to offer marriage something connected with Lashmar’s early visit this morning?  That he had intended a proposal, Constance could not doubt.  Meanwhile, she felt glad of the outbreak in prospect; her mood desired tumultuous circumstances.  What part she herself would play in to-day’s drama, she had not vet decided; that must largely depend upon events.  Her future was involved in the conflict of passions and designs which would soon be at its height.  How much it would have helped her could she have read through the envelope now in her hand!

There came a knock to the door.  Lady Ogram wished to speak with Miss Bride.

It was the rarest thing for the secretary to be summoned to her ladyship’s bedroom.  In the ante-chamber, the maid encountered her.

“My lady means to get up,” whispered this discreet attendant.  “She thinks herself very much better, but I am sure she is very ill indeed.  I know the signs.  The doctor forbade her to move, but I durstn’t oppose her.”

“Does she know that Lord Dymchurch has gone?” asked Constance.

“No, miss.  I thought it better to say nothing just yet.  Everything excites her so.”

“You were very wise.  Keep silence about it until Lady Ogram leaves her room.”

“My lady has just asked for her letters, miss.”

“Bring up those that have come by post.  I will deliver the other myself.”

Constance entered the bedroom.  With cheeks already touched into ghastly semblance of warm life, with her surprising hair provisionally rolled into a diadem, the old autocrat lay against upright pillows.  At sight of Constance, she raised her skeleton hand, and uttered a croak of triumph.

“Do you know the news?” followed in scarce articulate utterance.  “Robb’s will!  Nothing to the hospital—­not a penny for town charities.”

Constance affected equal rejoicing, for she knew how the singular old philanthropist had loathed the thought that Hollingford’s new hospital might bear Robb’s name instead of her own.

“But I beg you not to excite yourself,” she added.  “Try to think quietly—­”

“Mind your own business!” broke in the thick voice, whilst the dark eyes flashed with exultation.  “I want to know about Lord Dymchurch.  What are the plans for this morning?”

“I don’t think they are settled yet.  It’s still early.”

“How is May?”

“Quite well, I think.”

“I shall be down at mid-day, if not before.  Tell Lord Dymchurch that.”

The morning’s correspondence was brought in.  Lady Ogram glanced over her letters, and bade Constance reply to two or three of them.  She gave, also, many instructions as to matters which had been occupying her lately; her mind was abnormally active and lucid; at times her speech became so rapid that it was unintelligible.