That summons, again, had produced the inevitable acceleration of the Saturday's journey to Friday; the Friday of the fatal accident, the Friday when he went to his death.

From his death followed the second bereavement which had made the house desolate; the helpless position of the daughters whose prosperous future had been his dearest care; the revelation of the secret which had overwhelmed her that morning; the disclosure, more terrible still, which she now stood committed to make to the orphan sisters.

For the first time she saw the whole sequence of events--saw it as plainly as the cloudless blue of the sky and the green glow of the trees in the sunlight outside.
How--when could she tell them?
Who could approach them with the disclosure of their own illegitimacy before their father and mother had been dead a week?
Who could speak the dreadful words, while the first tears were wet on their cheeks, while the first pang of separation was at its keenest in their hearts, while the memory of the funeral was not a day old yet?
Not their last friend left; not the faithful woman whose heart bled for them.

No! silence for the present time, at all risks--merciful silence, for many days to come! She left the room, with the will and the letter in her hand--with the natural, human pity at her heart which sealed her lips and shut her eyes resolutely to the future.

In the hall she stopped and listened.