"Why—why—he all at once became terrified at something in front of him. Oh, the dreadful expression of his face! He—he—"
"Which way was he facing?"
"Straight ahead—toward the end of the hall. At that moment his face became frozen with a nameless terror; he threw up a hand to ward off the blow; but—but—"
"Yes, yes—then?"
"Then I—I—saw— Mamma, what ails the lights?—they are becoming so dim."
"Good God, Miss Joyce, hasten! You saw—"
She turned a hazy look toward him.
"I—I—saw—" one more futile effort to brush away the veil—"I—I saw—" and the girl, her face like wax, hung limp and silent between the Captain and her mother.
It had indeed ended.
With a movement that disengaged the motionless figure from Mrs. Westbrook's encircling arm, Converse lifted Joyce lightly and deposited her upon a couch. The look which he bestowed upon the white, pinched face was one of concern, and for an instant he laid one hand lightly upon her marble-like brow, then felt her pulse.