The morning passed miserably enough.  Alma went to her bedroom and lay there for an hour or two, then she strayed to the nursery and sat a while with Hugh and his governess.  At luncheon she had no more appetite than at breakfast, though for very faintness her body could scarce support itself.  After the meal Harvey went out to procure the earliest evening papers, and on his way he called at the doctor’s house.  Not till about five o’clock was a report of the Wimbledon inquest obtainable.  Having read it, Harvey took the paper home, where he arrived just as the doctor drove up to the door.

Alma was again lying down; her eyes showed that she had shed tears.  On Harvey’s saying that the doctor was in the house, she answered briefly that she would see him.  The result of the interview was made known to Rolfe.  Nervous collapse; care and quiet; excitement of any kind to be avoided; the patient better in bed for a few days, to obtain complete rest.  Avoidance of excitement was the most difficult of all things for Alma at present.  Newspapers could not be kept from her; she waited eagerly for the report of the inquest.

‘Carnaby tells an astonishing story,’ said Rolfe, as he sat down by her when the doctor was gone.

‘Let me read it for myself.’

She did so with every sign of agitation; but on laying the paper aside she seemed to become quieter.  After a short silence a word or two fell from her.

‘So Sibyl was at Weymouth.’

Harvey communed with his thoughts, which were anything but pleasant.  He did not doubt the truth of Hugh Carnaby’s narrative, but he had a gloomy conviction that, whether Hugh knew it or not, an essential part of the drama lay unrevealed.

‘Will they find that woman, do you think?’ were Alma’s next words.

‘It doesn’t seem very likely.’

‘What is the punishment for manslaughter?’

‘That depends.  The case will go for trial, and —­ in the meantime ——­’

‘What?’ asked Alma, raising herself.

‘The woman may be found.’

There was another silence.  Then Alma asked ——­

‘Do you think I ought to write to Sibyl?’

‘No,’ he answered decisively.  ’You must write to no one.  Put it all out of your mind as much as possible.’

‘Shall you see Mr. Carnaby?’

‘Only if he sends for me.’

And this was just what happened.  Admitted to bail by the magistrate, Hugh presently sent a note from Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, asking his friend to see him there.  Harvey did not let Alma know of it.  He found some difficulty in getting away from home for a couple of hours, so anxious had she become to keep him within call, and, when he of necessity went out, to be informed of his movements.  He attributed this to her morbid condition; for, in truth, Alma was very ill.  She could take only the lightest food, and in the smallest quantities; she fell repeatedly into fits of silent weeping; she had lost all strength, and her flesh had begun to waste.  On this same day Harvey heard that Mrs Frothingham was making ready to come, and the news relieved him.