Suddenly he became aware of a most extraordinary sense of oppression.
An indefinite dread took hold of him, his very soul was filled with
terrible apprehensions and alarm. Something dreadful seemed to knock at
the portals of his sense, a horror which he could not grasp. His mind
was confused, but little by little it grew clearer, and he began to
understand that a danger threatened Beatrice, that she was in great
peril. He was sure of it. Her agonised dying cries reached him where he
was, though in no form which he could understand; once more her thought
beat on his thought--once more and for the last time her spirit spoke to
his.
Then suddenly a cold wind seemed to breathe upon his face and lift his
hair, and everything was gone. His mind was as it had been; again he
heard the dreary orator and saw the members slipping away to dinner. The
conditions that disturbed him had passed, things were as they had been.
Nor was this strange! For the link was broken. Beatrice was _dead_. She
had passed into the domains of impenetrable silence.
Geoffrey sat up with a gasp, and as he did so a letter was placed in his
hand.
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