"There—is—no—death."
The muscles of the woman's face twisted it into a rueful smile. The three words she dragged out were so faint that perhaps none but Dart's strained ears heard them.
"Wot—price—me?"
The soul of her was loosening fast and straining away, but Jinny Montaubyn followed it.
"There—is—no—death," and her low voice had the tone of a slender silver trumpet. "In a minit yer'll know—in a minit. Lord," lifting her expectant face, "show her the wye."
Mysteriously the clouds were clearing from the sodden face—mysteriously. Miss Montaubyn watched them as they were swept away! A minute—two minutes—and they were gone. Then she rose noiselessly and stood looking down, speaking quite simply as if to herself.
"Ah," she breathed, "she does know now—fer sure an' certain."
Then Antony Dart, turning slightly, realized that a man who had entered the house and been standing near him, breathing with light quickness, since the moment Miss Montaubyn had knelt, was plainly the person Glad had called the "curick," and that he had bowed his head and covered his eyes with a hand which trembled.