Heedless of the direction which the cab took, he suffered his physical and mental unrest for another quarter of an hour, then a stoppage told him that the house was reached. On his way he had heard a clock strike eleven.
The door opened almost as soon as he had rung the bell. He mentioned his name, and the maid-servant conducted him to a drawing-room on the ground-floor. The house was quite a small one, but seemed to be well furnished. One lamp burned on the table, and the fire had sunk to a red glow. Saying that she would inform Mrs Reardon at once, the servant left him alone.
He placed his bag on the floor, took off his muffler, threw back his overcoat, and sat waiting. The overcoat was new, but the garments beneath it were his poorest, those he wore when sitting in his garret, for he had neither had time to change them, nor thought of doing so.
He heard no approaching footstep but Amy came into the room in a way which showed that she had hastened downstairs. She looked at him, then drew near with both hands extended, and laid them on his shoulders, and kissed him. Reardon shook so violently that it was all he could do to remain standing; he seized one of her hands, and pressed it against his lips.
‘How hot your breath is!’ she said. ‘And how you tremble! Are you ill?’
‘A bad cold, that’s all,’ he answered thickly, and coughed. ‘How is Willie?’
‘In great danger. The doctor is coming again to-night; we thought that was his ring.’
‘You didn’t expect me to-night?’
‘I couldn’t feel sure whether you would come.’
‘Why did you send for me, Amy? Because Willie was in danger, and you felt I ought to know about it?’