Peter shuddered.
"I am glad you were not with him."
Electra was not listening. She had placed her hand on the hair of the fallen man, tenderly and yet with reverence.
"He is splendid, Peter, isn't he?" she said, as if she wondered at life and its fleeting forms. "He looks like a god, sleeping." Some echo of her words came back to her, and she felt a momentary pleasure at their sound. Then, very shortly it seemed, men came, the doctor and others who had authority, and Electra was turned out of the room.
"Go upstairs," Peter besought her.
But she stepped out, bare-headed, into the air.
"No," she answered, "I am going to tell his daughter."
"No!" Suddenly Peter remembered how little she was fitted to be a kindly messenger. "No, Electra. I will go."
Electra looked at him in a calm surprise.
"He would wish it," she said. "He would wish me to do everything." And she was gone.