’I myself know nothing but the fact of Mr. Hood’s death.  It took place some ten days ago, on Monday of last week.  I arrived here on the Wednesday.’

‘Of course there was an inquest—­with what results?’

’None, beyond the verdict of suicide.  No definite cause could he discovered.  It is said that he suffered from very narrow means.  His body was found by Mr. Dagworthy.’

‘Who is Mr. Dagworthy?’

‘I thought you probably knew,’ returned Beatrice, glancing quickly at him.  ’He was employed by Mr. Dagworthy as clerk in a manufactory.  He had just left for his summer holiday.’

‘What evidence did his employer give?’

’He only stated that Mr. Hood had been perfectly regular and satisfactory at his work.’

‘Then in truth it is a mystery?’

’Mr. Baxendale thinks that there had been a long struggle with poverty, quite enough to account for the end.’

Wilfrid sat in gloomy silence.  He was picturing what Emily must have endured, and reproaching himself for not having claimed a right to her entire confidence, when it was in his power to make that hard path smooth, and to avert this fearful misery.  Looking up at length, he met the girl’s eyes.

‘I need not explain myself to you, Beatrice,’ he said, finding at last a natural tone, and calling her by her Christian name because he had much need of friendly sympathy.  ‘You appear to know why I have come.’

She answered rather hurriedly.

’I should not have known but for something that Mrs. Baxendale told me.  Mr. Athel wrote a short time ago to ask for information about them—­about the Hoods.’

‘He wrote?’

Wilfrid heard it with a little surprise, but without concern.

‘Do you know whether Mrs. Hood is alone—­with her?’ he went on to ask.

‘I believe so.’

‘And she is better?’ He added quickly, ’Has she proper attendance?  Have any friends been of aid?’

‘The Baxendales have shown much kindness.  My aunt saw her yesterday.’

‘Will it be long before she is able to leave her room, do you know?’

’I am not able to say.  Mrs. Baxendale hopes you will go upstairs and see her; she can tell you more.  Will you go?’

‘But is she alone?  I can’t talk with people.’

‘Yes, she is alone, quite.’

He rose.  The girl’s eyes fixed themselves on him again, and she said: 

‘You look dreadfully tired.’

‘I have not slept, I think, since I left Thun.’

‘You left them all well?’ Beatrice asked, with a change in her voice, from anxious interest which would have veiled itself, to the tone of one discharging a formal politeness.

Wilfrid replied with a brief affirmative, and they ascended the stairs together to a large and rather dim drawing-room, with a scent of earth and vegetation arising from the great number of growing plants arranged about it.  Beatrice presented her friend to Mrs. Baxendale, and at once withdrew.