“For God’s sake speak, if you are living!” cried Ella in a whisper tremulous with terror.
He did not speak—he stood there, staring at her.
“What does he mean? What does he mean?” said the woman, after another dreadful pause. “Why does he stand there, Phyllis, staring at me? Why——Oh, my God! I see it—I see it on his face—my husband—Stephen—dead—he is dead—you came to bring the news to me. Look, Phyllis, he cannot say ‘No’—he would say ‘No’ unless I had guessed the truth—he would say it—he would have some pity. Is it the truth? Man—speak—say yes, or no—for God’s sake! for God’s sake!”
She had taken half a dozen rapid steps to him and grasped him by the arm, gazing into his face.
He bowed his head.
She flung his arm from her, and burst into a laugh.
“Ah, Phyllis! I see it all now. He was the man I loved—I know it now—he was the man I loved. It was for him I cried out just now—‘Give him back to me—give him back to me!’”
The wild shriek with which she cried the words the second time rang through the house. She fell upon her knees, clutching at Phyllis’ hand as before, and then, making a motion as if about to rise, she fell back and lay with her white face turned to the ceiling, her white arms stretched limply out on each side of her like the arms of a crucified woman.
Servants came with restoratives.