It was from Coralie, but it only held these few words: "Edgar--My boy--my beautiful boy--is dying.

Come to me; for if I lose him I shall die, too.

In my distress I would rather have you near me than any one else.
CORALIE TREVELYAN." Was it true, or was it an invention?
Poor little Rupert dying! Why, no one had even told me he was ill.

Perhaps I had better go.

No mother could be so cold and so wicked as to feign death for her only child.
Lord Winter raised no objections.
"It was not very convenient," he said, but of course he "must bow to necessity." I was in time to catch the mail train.