"Perhaps on the grass--"
Chide--pale, with drawn brows--looked at him a moment in silence.
Marsham hurried to the garden and to the spot under the yews, where the
death had taken place. Round the garden chairs were signs of trampling
feet--the feet of the gardeners who had carried the body. A medley of
books, opened letters, and working-materials lay on the grass. Marsham
looked through them; they all belonged to Diana or Mrs. Colwood. Then he
noticed a cushion which had fallen beside the chair, and a corner of
newspaper peeping from below it. He lifted it up.
Below lay Broadstone's open letter, in its envelope, addressed first in
the Premier's well-known handwriting to "The Right Honble. John Ferrier,
M.P."--and, secondly, in wavering pencil, to "Lady Lucy Marsham,
Tallyn Hall."
Marsham turned the letter over, while thoughts hurried through his
brain. Evidently Ferrier had had time to read it. Why that address to
his mother?--and in that painful hand--written, it seemed, with the
weakness of death already upon him?
The newspaper? Ah!--the _Herald_!--lying as though, after reading it,
Ferrier had thrown it down and let the letter drop upon it, from a hand
that had ceased to obey him.
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