“And I tried so hard,” said the woman, hoarsely. “I tried to do that which was right and just.—With all his sins upon his head, unrepentant, harsh and cruel to the last.”
“Sarah!”
“Hush, my child, hush!” said the woman in a low voice, full of deep passionate emotion. “I never had a child to love—to call me mother. Oh, my poor dear, helpless, motherless, fatherless girl; and I tried so hard—I tried so hard.”
“Sarah,” cried Claude, struggling from the woman’s encircling arm, “you don’t think—”
“This way, please—quick, sir, quick.”
The door was thrown open, and Doctor Asher entered, followed by a tall grave-looking man, who bowed to Claude, and laid his hat upon the table, looking then inquiringly at Asher.
“Yes; of course,” said the doctor. “My dear Miss Gartram, you will go now.”
“But, doctor—”
“No appeal, please; we must consult over the case and be alone. Trust me; we will do our best. There, you will come back soon.”
Claude reluctantly allowed herself to be led out of the room, and then, as she stood in the great sombre-looking hall; she in turn staggered and would have fallen, but for Sarah Woodham’s arm, and she suffered herself to be led into the drawing-room, where, with the awful truth beginning to grow and grow till it overshadowed her like a cloud she was about to fling herself sobbing in a chair, when a low sigh caught her ear.