The judge opened his eyes.
“I remember him,” he faltered.
“Drink some of this, old fellow,” Rochester said. “You’ll be better in a moment.”
The judge’s eyes were closed again. He had suddenly become a dead weight on Rochester’s arm. Vandermere, who had done amateur doctoring at the war, brought a pillow for his head. They cut off more of his clothes. They tried by every means to keep a flicker of life in him until the doctor came. Only Rochester knew it was useless. He had seen the shadow of death pass across the gray, stricken face.
CHAPTER IX
A SENTIMENTAL TALK
Lois opened the gate and stole into the lane with the air of a guilty child. She gave a little gasp as she came face to face with Saton, and picking up her skirts, seemed for a moment about to fly. He stood quite still—his face was sad—almost reproachful. She dropped her skirt and came slowly, doubtfully towards him.
“I have come,” she said. “I was forced to come. Oh, Mr. Saton! How could you?”