“Only the answer, Miss Cumberland. Can you tell us how those pillows were arranged?”
“I’m afraid not. I threw them down quickly, madly, just as I collected them. I only know that I put the window cushion down first. The rest fell anyhow; but they quite covered her—quite.”
“Hands and face?”
“Her whole body.”
“And did they cover her quite when you came back?”
“They must have—Wait—wait! I know I have no right to say that, but I cannot swear that I saw any change.”
“Can you swear that there was no change—that the pillows and the window cushion lay just as they did when you left the room?”
She did not answer. Horror seemed to have seized hold of her. Her eyes, fixed on the attorney’s face, wavered and, had they followed their natural impulse, would have turned towards her brother, but her fear—possibly her love—was her counsellor and she brought them back to Mr. Fox. Resolutely, but with a shuddering insight of the importance of her reply, she answered with that one weighty monosyllable which can crush so many hopes, and even wreck a life:
“No.”
At the next moment she was in Dr. Carpenter’s arms. Her strength had given way for the time, and the court was hastily adjourned, to give her opportunity for rest and recuperation.