Moira gratefully accepted these services.
Before midnight the girl had to call the night watchman and get him to send a messenger out for the nearest physician, who came promptly in answer to the call.
Moira saw the sun rise once more for the last time. Then she died, leaving behind her a pair of healthy twins—a boy and a girl.
Her death was so sudden, so unexpected, that it seemed as if a bright, strong torch had been instantly inverted and extinguished.
Then there was a commotion and a sensation in the hotel.
Where was the husband of the dead woman, the father of the motherless babes?
The office book was searched to see who was the party who had taken Room 777 seven weeks previous, and the register showed the name of T. O. Mannikin and wife, Ogly, Ireland. This was the manner in which the hurried clerk of the hotel had heard and entered the name and address of The O’Melaghlin.
The attendant physician gave his certificate as to the natural cause of death, so that there was no need of a coroner’s inquest.
But there had to be a thorough search made through the effects of the dead woman for clews to friends or relatives, who should be notified of her decease.
Nothing was found; not a letter, not even a line of writing except those of the receipts, for she had paid punctually every week up to the Saturday before her fatal illness. The poor young pair had no correspondents anywhere.