Her face was very pale and working with emotion.
"Oh," she cried, "you only telegraphed me that poor Cousin Eliza was dead! You did not either of you tell me she was murdered.

I loved her, although I had not seen her for years, because I have so few to whom my love seemed to belong.

I was sorry because she was dead, but murdered!" Rose threw herself on a chair, and sobbed and sobbed.
"I loved her; I did love her," she kept repeating, like a distressed child.

"I did love her, poor Cousin Eliza, and she was murdered.

I did love her.".