Chapter Three“Miss Cyrilla!”
The voice was urgent and instantly Cyrilla was awake, raising her head from the pillow.
“What is it, Hannah?”
She knew the answer without the maid having to reply and quickly she jumped out of bed, picked up her wrap which lay on a chair, slipped it on and hurried from the room.
She had only to go next door to find Frans Wyntack’s room and, as she entered it, she knew without being told that he was dead.
Hannah had crossed his hands on his chest and he was lying on his back, looking, she thought, in the pale morning light like one of the warriors she had seen so often on the tombs in a Church.
In death, without the sparkle in his eyes and the smile on his lips, Frans Wyntack did in fact, with his handsome features, look almost classical, but it was differ
