By a stroke, as of Heaven's lightning, the house of joy was turned into
the house of mourning.
They bore the dead man to his room, plain and simple, even in that
mansion of luxury; the guests departed, some of them flying as from a
pestilence, some of them lingering with white and dazed faces and
hushed whispers, and Stafford was left alone with his dead; for he had
shut the door even upon Howard, who paced up and down outside, not
daring to force his sympathy upon his beloved friend.
The morning papers gave a full account of the grand ball, the
announcement of Sir Stephen's peerage, and the sudden and tragic ending
to a life which had been lived full in the public gaze, a life of
struggle and success, which had been cut down at the very moment of
extreme victory. They recited the man's marvellous career, and held it
up to the admiration and emulation of his fellow Englishmen. They
called him a pioneer, one who had added to the Empire, they hinted at a
public funeral--and they all discreetly ascribed telling upon a weak
heart. Sir Stephen's precarious condition had been known, they said, to
his medical adviser, who had for some time past tried to persuade him
to relinquish his arduous and nerve-racking occupations, and to take
repose.
Not a word was said about the cablegram which had been delivered to him
a few moments before his terribly sudden death; for it was felt by all
that nothing should be allowed to blur the glory of such a successful
career--not for the present, at any rate.
There was no need for an inquest; the great physician who had been in
attendance, quite vainly, was prepared to certify to the cause of
death, and Stafford's feelings were spared thus far. Someone high in
authority suggested the idea of a public funeral, through Howard, whom
alone Stafford saw, but Stafford declined the honour, and the first
Earl of Highcliffe was carried to his last rest as quietly as
circumstances would permit.
The press and the men of the city, with whom the dead man had worked,
kept silence about the catastrophe that had happened until after the
funeral; then rumours arose, at first in whispers and then more loudly,
and paragraphs and leaderettes appeared in the papers hinting at
something wrong in connection with Lord Highcliffe's last great scheme,
and calling for an enquiry.
The morning after the funeral, Howard found Stafford sitting in a
darkened room of the great house, his head in his hand, a morning paper
lying open on the table before him. He raised his white and haggard
face as Howard entered and took his friend's hand in silence. Howard
glanced at the paper and bit his lip.