"Madame will speak to you!" announced that person loftily, and turned away scornfully before he had time to reply. Eager, surprised, he hastened up the stair and once more was at her bedside. "Yes?" he said. "Did you wish me for anything?"
Josephine pushed herself back against the head board of the bed, half supported by pillows. With her free hand she attempted to put back a fallen lock of dark hair. It was not care for her personal appearance which animated her, however, although her costume, arranged by her maid, now was that of the sick chamber. "Jeanne," she said, "go to the armoire, yonder. Bring me what you find there. Wait," she added to Dunwody. "I've something to show you, something to ask you, yes."
Jeanne turned, over her arm now the old and worn garments which
Sally earlier had attempted to remove.
"What are these?" exclaimed Josephine of the man who stood by.
He made no reply, but took the faded silks in his own hands, looking at them curiously, as though he himself saw something unexpected, inexplicable.
"What are they, sir? Whose were they? You told me once you were alone here."
"I am," he answered. "Look. These are years old, years, years old."
"What are they? Whose were they?" she reiterated.
"They are grave clothes," he said simply, and looked her in the face. "Do you wish to know more?"
"Is she—was she—is she out there?" He knew she meant to ask, in the graveyard of the family.