“He was ill. I was to rouse the house—bring the bowl—the candles—no waiting,—I knew what I was to do; he had told me the night before.
“And I did each and every thing just as he commanded. Alive to seeming failure, to possible despair, I went about my task, hoping against hope that all would yet go right; that Fate would step in and make my sin of some avail at this terrible crisis. Though the hands I wrung together in my misery as I ran through the hall were like ice to the touch, I was all on fire within. Now there is no more fire left here”—her hand falling heavy on her breast—“than on the stones of the desolated hearth;—only ashes! ashes!”
The Inspector moved, and was about to speak, but ceased as her voice rose again in that same awful monotone.
“I loved my Mr. Edgar then.” She spoke as though years had intervened instead of a few flitting days. “I used to think that in return for one of his gay smiles I would put my hands under his feet. But to-day, I do not seem to care enough for him to be glad that he is not guilty. If he were, and had to face what I have to face—shame, when I have always prided myself on my good-name—isolation, when to help others has been my life—death, when—” She paused at that, her head falling forward, her eyes opening into a wide stare, as though she saw for the first time the abyss into which she was sinking,—“I should not now be so lonely.”
The Inspector drew back, Mr. Jackson turned away his head. I could not move feature or limb. I was beholding for the first time the awakening of a lost soul to the horror of its own sin.
“I don’t know why it is,” she went on, still in that toneless voice more moving than any wail or even shriek. “It did not seem such a dreadful thing to do that night. It was but hastening his death by a few days, possibly by only a few hours. But now—now—” Suddenly to our amazement she was on her feet, her eyes roaming from one face to the other of us three, all signs of apathy gone, passion restored to her heart, feeling restored to her voice, as she cried out: “Will Miss Orpha have to know? I wish I could see her before she knows. I wish—I wish—”
It was my turn now. Leaping to her side, I held her while the sobs came in agony from her breast, shaking her and distorting her features till in mercy I pulled down her veil and seated her again in her chair.
As I withdrew my arm she managed to press my hand. And I heard very faintly from behind that veil:
“I am glad something happened to give you what you wanted.”