"There sits the man as fights with death!" cried Molly, in uncontrollable excitement. She and the cook fell on their knees. Pink, in her nightdress, stole in, and leaned against the door; the child was too frightened to cry. The baby had gone to sleep. The house grew ominously still. The mantel clock struck the half-hour. It was now half-past eleven. Avery glanced at the physician's face, and buried his own in his hands.
The doctor rose, and stood frowning. He seemed to hesitate for the first time since he had been in the room.
"Is there no heart-beat yet? Can't you detect anything?" asked Avery again. He could not help it. Dr. Thorne looked at him; the physician seemed to treat the question as he would an insult.
"When I have anything to say, I 'll say it," he answered roughly. He stood pondering.
"A glass!" he called peremptorily. Molly handed him a tumbler. He pushed it away.
"I said a glass! A mirror!"
Some one handed him Jean's little silver toilet hand-glass. The physician held it to her lips, and laid it down. After a moment's irresolution he took it up, and bending over the body put it to the woman's lips again, and studied it intently for some moments. Avery asked no questions this time, nor did he dare glance at the glass.
"How long," demanded Dr. Thorne suddenly, "has she been like this?"
"I found her so when I came in. It was then eleven o'clock."
"How long had she been alone?"