"I wish I knew. But, alas! that is a mystery!"
Lianor gazed helplessly from one to the other, then, breaking from her
friend's gentle hold, staggered forward.
"Where are you going, Lianor?" Diniz asked, anxiously.
"To him. I must see for myself the terrible truth."
"Can you bear it?"
"Yes--oh, yes!"
Very tenderly Diniz took one of the trembling hands in his, and led
her toward a darkened chamber, where, on the blue-draped bed, lay the
still form of his young friend.
A convulsive shudder shook Lianor's slender frame as she gazed on
those handsome features set in death's awful calm; the closed eyes,
which would never look into her own again; the cold lips which would
never breathe loving words into her ear, or press her brow in fond
affection.
She could not weep, as Savitre wept; tears refused to ease the burning
pain at her heart. Only a low moan broke from her as she threw herself
suddenly over that loved body.
"My love--my darling! Why did I ever let you leave me? How can I live
without you?"
"Hush, Lianor! Come, you can do nothing here. But one thing I promise
you, I will avenge his death at any cost! The murderer will be found
and punished--no matter who it is!" Diniz cried, earnestly.
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