They went upstairs. The three stood for some time looking at the bed, at the grey head of the old man on the pillow, the grey beard over the sheet. Miss Louisa was shocked and afraid.
“It is so dreadful,” she said, with a shudder.
“It is how I always thought it would be,” replied Mrs Durant.
Then Miss Louisa was afraid of her. The two women were uneasy, waiting for Mr Massy to say something. He stood, small and bent, too nervous to speak.
“Has he any understanding?” he asked at length.
“Maybe,” said Mrs Durant. “Can you hear, John?” she asked loudly. The dull blue eye of the inert man looked at her feebly.
“Yes, he understands,” said Mrs Durant to Mr Massy. Except for the dull look in his eyes, the sick man lay as if dead. The three stood in silence. Miss Louisa was obstinate but heavy-hearted under the load of unlivingness. It was Mr Massy who kept her there in discipline. His non-human will dominated them all.
Then they heard a sound below, a man’s footsteps, and a man’s voice called subduedly:
“Are you upstairs, mother?”
Mrs Durant started and moved to the door. But already a quick, firm step was running up the stairs.