"Annie only went to the Dispensary. She ought to be back by now. Where can she be?"
Outside, the noise and excitement had been succeeded by an unnatural calm. Suddenly Tod, who was still hanging half out of the window, turned round, and before Paula could silence him, called out:
"They're coming into this house."
A cry from the mother answered him. She did not know why she called out. Surely it was no misfortune of hers—this accident. She only knew that her child was out, and should have returned long ago.
Paula rushed to the top of the landing and looked down. Below, she saw a procession of people slowly ascending the stairs. First came the stalwart policeman bearing something white in his arms, then came the tall, thin man in the linen duster, followed by a number of women weeping and wailing. Paula felt herself grow pale. A vague intuition told her that a terrible tragedy had occurred. Her heart seemed to stop beating. Up and up, closer and closer, came the policeman with his burden.
"What is it?" cried Paula, scarcely able to control herself.
"A child run over, m'm," answered the officer stolidly. Tears were in his eyes as he added: "It's little Annie Hughes. I'm afraid it's all over."
The child's form was limp, the eyes were closed, her little dress was saturated with blood.
"Oh, God!"
With an involuntary shriek of horror, Paula staggered back into the attic. Her first thought was of the poor mother, to save her the shock of seeing the body of her mangled child, but as she crossed the threshold, she suddenly felt sick and dizzy. The room seemed to swim round. She called loudly: