"Wait ... wait, Mrs. Chesney ... be advised ... I implore you...." he panted.
But Sophy did not even hear him. Her son ... she was going to her son ... that was all that she knew or felt in that moment.
She had not mounted five steps before she saw Lady Wychcote and Bellamy coming down.
She stopped and threw back her head with a fierce gesture.
"I've come for my son," she said, her eyes on Lady Wychcote's. "Where is my son?"
Both Lady Wychcote and Bellamy stood staring down at her without a word, and something in their faces made her suddenly shrivel with fear. She reached them in a bound or two, seized Lady Wychcote's arm, holding her as in a vice. Her wild look went from one pale face to the other.
"What's the matter? What have you done to him?" she gasped. "Where is he?"
She loosed Lady Wychcote as suddenly as she had seized her. Now her frantic, asking fingers grasped Bellamy.
"Is he ill? Is he ... dead?" she stammered.
Then with the same violent quickness she released Bellamy also before he could reply. Leaping past them, she ran towards the nursery.