For a moment I forebore to answer. Evil passions raged within me. The Devil himself seemed whispering in my ear; then I remembered Uncle’s own admonition and I turned and looked up at Orpha’s picture and that old hour came back and my heart softened and, advancing towards him, I replied:
“I did not know it; but I felt confident of it because our uncle told me what to expect and I trusted him.”
“You will never be master here,” stormed Edgar, livid with fury.
“Yes, I will,” I answered mildly, “for this night.”
Wealthy drew him away. It would have been hard to tell which was trembling the most, he or the nurse.
They left the door open. I was glad of this. I would have been gladder if the whole household had come trooping in. Orpha standing silent by the great bed; Lucy drawn up against my uncle’s old chair—and I wishing the winds would blow and the trees crack,—anything to break the deathly quiet in which we could hear the footfalls of those two disappearing up the hall.
Lucy, marking my trouble, was the first to move.
“I am no longer needed here,” she said almost sweetly. “Orpha, if you want to talk, come to me in my room.”
At that I started forward. “We will all go.” And I closed the closet door and seeing a key in the lock, turned it and, drawing it out, handed it to Orpha, together with the one hanging from my neck.
“They are yours,” I said; but did not meet her eyes or touch her hand. “Go with Lucy,” I added, “and sleep; I pray you sleep. You have suffered enough for one night.”