“Sleep is the best thing for him,” said Sarah Woodham in a hoarse whisper, as she went slowly back into the hall, and then into the servants’ quarters, from whence, after a few minutes, she returned to go about in a silent way like a dark shadow, closing and fastening doors, before listening for awhile on the study mat, and then going into the dining-room, where she seated herself on one of the chairs, resting her chin upon her hands, and gazing straight before her in the darkness. Then for a time all was still, save a low sigh, almost like a moan, which came from the suffering woman’s breast, followed by a shiver and a start, for it was as if the hand of the dead had just been laid upon her shoulder.
Volume Two—Chapter Eleven.
The Night Alarm.
“Asleep!”
“You, sir? I—I suppose I must have been,” faltered Sarah.
“Well, why not? I just came to see if you were within reach, in case I wanted you.”
“Master, sir?”
“Just the same.”