“But I shall not go. I have a duty to perform before I leave this house. I intend to save the life of that poor boy downstairs, so that he may not die believing me to be an evil woman, a faithless wife. Thank God, I have accomplished something! You know that he is your son. You know that my sister was as pure as snow. You know that you killed her, and that she loved you in spite of the death you brought to her. That is something.”
Brood dropped into the chair and buried his face on his quivering arms. In muffled tones came the cry from his soul:
“They've all said that he is like me. I have seen it at times, but I would not believe. I fought against it resolutely, madly, cruelly! Now it is too late and I see! I see, I feel! You curse of mankind, you have driven me to the killing of my own son!”
She stood over him, silent for a long time, her hand hovering above his head.
“He is not going to die,” she said at last, when she was sure that she had full command of her voice. “I can promise you that, James. I shall not go from this house until he is well. I shall nurse him to health and give him back to you and Matilde, for now I know that he belongs to both of you and not to her alone. Now, James, you may go down to him. He is not conscious. He will not hear you praying at his bedside. He———”
A knock came at the door—a sharp, imperative knock. It was repeated several times before either of them could summon the courage to call out. They were petrified with the dread of something that awaited them beyond the closed door. It was she who finally called out:
“Come in!”
Dr Hodder, coatless and bare-armed, came into the room.