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"You are tired," says he, tenderly. "Oh, my lady, if I must speak," cries the old man, "but it is terrible news to tell without a word of warning. Mr. Paul Rodney is dying: he shot himself half an hour ago, and is lying now at Rawson's Lodge in the beech wood.".
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Thus Doatie, looking preternaturally wise, but faintly puzzled at her own view of the question. "Some other day you can do that. Now go," says Mona, imperiously, waving her hand. There is a strange hush and silence everywhere. The very clouds are motionless in their distant homes. "This is too dreadful!" moans Lady Rodney, sinking back again in her chair, utterly overcome by this last crowning blow. She clasps her hands with a deplorable gesture, and indeed looks the very personification of disgusted woe..
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