She stood still to listen, and her heart beat so loud that she could hardly hear. There—to the left, where the spare-rooms were. But why? Why had they taken her there?
She ran down the passage to the left. Yes; here it was; behind this shut door....
Catherine’s knees seemed to be going to give way. The sound was terribly close,—so hopeless, so unceasing. What were they doing in there to her child? What was God doing to let them?
Her shaking hand fumbled at the handle. She laid the other over it to steady it. She mustn’t be like this, she knew; she mustn’t go in there only to add to the terror that was there already.
With both hands gripping the handle she slowly turned it and went in.
Stephen.
Stephen half sitting, half lying on the floor up against a sofa. His mother standing looking at him. No one else. The room shrouded in dust-sheets, the bed piled high with spare blankets and pillows. Stephen moaning.
‘Stephen!’ Catherine exclaimed, so much shocked that she could only stare. Stephen—Stephen of all people—in such a state....
His mother turned and came towards her.
‘But—Virginia?’ said Catherine, her lips trembling, for if Stephen could be reduced to this, what dreadful thing was happening to Virginia?