CHAPTER XL.
It was late in the afternoon when Zara got back to her uncle's house.
She had been too distracted with grief to know or care about time, or what they would be thinking of her absence.
Just after the poor little one was dead frantic telegrams had come from the Morleys, in consternation at his disappearance, and Mimo, quite prostrate in his sorrow, as he had been at her mother's death, had left all practical things to Zara.
No doctor turned up, either.

Mimo had not coherently given the address, on the telephone.

Thus they passed the day alone with their dead, in anguish; and at last thought came back to Zara.

She would go to her uncle, and let him help to settle things; she could count upon him to do that.
Francis Markrute, anxious and disturbed by Tristram's message and her absence, met her as she came in and drew her into the library.
The butler had handed her her husband's note, but she held it listlessly in her hand, without opening it.

She was still too numb with sorrow to take notice of ordinary things.