Mrs. Webber ran out also. "I am not mistaken. Why"—she stared up also—"there is none. Yet I am sure—I'll ask Lucy," and she ran into the house again. "Come and show me where the poor man is."
This was to Mrs. Gilroy, who rose slowly and walked heavily up the stairs. "Are you in pain, Mrs. Gilroy?" asked Julius, who followed.
"Yes," she muttered, pressing her hand to her side. "Mr. Gore gave me a wrench when I struggled with him. My poor master," and sighing heavily, she panted up the stair.
In the room, Lucy was kneeling beside the dead, with the tears streaming down her cheeks and holding the limp hand. "How terrible it is!" she sobbed. "He was so well and bright when I left to go to the theatre, and now"—she broke down. Julius supported her to the sofa and strove to calm her.
"It is terrible," he said soothingly. "I think you had better go back with Mrs. Webber."
"No!" she said, drying her eyes. "I will wait here."
"Yes, do, miss," chorussed the cook and the housemaid, who were both in a state of wild alarm.
"Nothing of the sort," said Mrs. Webber, laying her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Come home with me, dear."
Mrs. Webber was a small, dark, stern-looking little woman with a high color, although her face was very white at the present awful moment. She was possessed of considerable determination, as could be seen from her firm mouth. But Lucy, in spite of her youth and the crushing to which she had been subjected by Sir Simon, had the stronger will, and positively refused to leave the house.
"He was my only friend," she said, rising, "and I won't go away."