She looked up, dry-eyed. A quick flash,—could it have been of joy?—lighted her haggard face.
“Yes, yes,—he must be spared,” she cried. A deep, inscrutable expression came into her eyes. She drew a deep, full breath. “Thank God! He is young,—he has a long and useful life to live. I gave it him. That is the best, the biggest thing I have done. Now, go, Davenport. Shall we say—good-night?”
The following day,—in the noon issues—all of the New York evening papers printed, under varied headlines, the details, so far as available, of the shocking accident which resulted in the death of Mrs. Davenport Carstairs. She had fallen from a window in her bed-chamber to the brick-paved courtyard ten stories below. Death was instantaneous. “Accidental,” was the prompt decision of the coroner.
Deduction readily established the fact. Mrs. Carstairs must have become ill in the night. A bottle of smelling salts was found on the floor near the window which was open to the full. Evidently, she had gone to the window for air. After opening it wide, a sudden faintness or dizziness caused her to topple forward.... Before retiring for the night, she had complained to her husband of a dull, throbbing headache, due, no doubt, to anxiety over the alarming illness of her niece, Miss Hansbury.... Sometime after one o'clock, Mr. Carstairs, in the adjoining bed-room, heard her moaning as if in pain. He arose instantly and opened the connecting door. She was lying on her bed, and, in response to his inquiry, begged him not to worry about her. Dr. Browne, called in to attend Miss Hansbury, had decided to remain for the night. He was lying down in a guest-chamber, and had fallen asleep.
Uneasy over his wife's condition, Mr. Carstairs awoke the physician and together they returned to her room. A knock on the door brought no response,—but some relief in the thought that she was asleep. The husband opened the door slightly and listened. There was no sound. He entered the room, which was dark, and approached the bed. Then, he called out to the doctor to switch on the lights.... A cold icy draft,—the Night-Wind,—rushing into the room through the open window....
Continuing, the papers spoke profoundly of the great loss to society, of the qualities that made Mrs. Davenport Carstairs one of the most sincerely beloved women in all the great city, of her prominence in the conduct of important war charities and reliefs, of her unswerving devotion to the cause for which America and her sons were fighting, of her manifold charms and graces. Her untimely death created a void that could never be filled. Eulogy upon eulogy!
Among the hundreds of telegrams of condolence received by Davenport Carstairs was one from Mr. Paul Zimmerlein, couched in most exquisite terms, conveying tribute to the dead and sympathy to the living. It was sent on the second day from the smart club to which he belonged; on the third flowers went up with his card.
As business went on as usual at the offices of Mr. Paul Zimmerlein, it would be sheer presumption to even suggest that this unhappy chronicle has reached