Lady Clyste led the way up-stairs, and, as they followed her, outcries, sounds that made Amethyst’s heart die within her, led them on their way.
“Oh, he’s quite off his head,” said Blanche, as she opened the bedroom door.
There, on the narrow bed, lay Charles; and Amethyst saw what months of neglect and evil living, and frightful ills and sufferings, had made of a man already marred and ruined beyond repair.
Miss Haredale recoiled with a sob, and Amethyst gathered up her courage and came forward.
“Charles,” she said.
The sick man started up and swore at her for a ghost. Then his eyes cleared a little, and he stuttered out—
“Amethyst! Oh, damn it all. Go away; you mustn’t stop here, here with me. And there’s Blanche; you mustn’t stay with Blanche. Take her away, Aunt Anna. Take her away this moment.”
Blanche gave a sort of laugh, and then began to sob hysterically.
“Hush, Charles,” said Amethyst, “I came to see you. You won’t hurt me,—and Blanche—is very kind. Lie still.—Una sent you her love.”
Her lips and hands trembled a little, but her eyes were full of yearning pity. Never, in her loveliest moments, had she looked as she did now.