It drifted slowly off into silence, and a cool breeze crossed her brow. She suddenly felt wet with perspiration. She listened closely, but the whisper was not repeated.
Then, noiselessly, she got out of bed, stepped into slippers, and drew a robe about her. Just as silently she left her room and walked down the hall to Mrs. DeBrugh's bedroom.
She rapped softly on the door, fearing the wrath of the woman within at being awakened in the middle of the night. There was no answer, no sound from inside the room.
Letty hesitated, wondering what to do. And once more she felt that cool, death-like breeze, and heard the faintest of whispers, fainter even than the sighing of the night wind: "Letty."
She opened the door and switched on the light. Mrs. DeBrugh lay in the bed as in sleep, but Letty knew, as she had known about Mr. DeBrugh, that it was more than sleep.
She quickly called the doctor, and sometime much later he arrived, his eyes heavy from lack of sleep.
"Dead," he remarked, after looking at the body. "Probably had a shock. Fright, nightmare, or something her heart couldn't stand. I always thought she would have died first."
Letty walked slowly from the room, down the stairs, still in her robe and slippers. The doctor followed and passed her, going through the door into the outside.
She walked, as though directed by some unseen force, into Mr. DeBrugh's study. She switched on a lamp beside the sofa on which he had always sat; and she noticed that it was moved slightly out of place.
There was something else about the room, some memory of old days. First she saw some sort of legal document on the table and wondered at its being there. The title said: Last Will and Testament of Hector A. DeBrugh. It was brief. She read it through and found that Mr. DeBrugh had spoken truthfully in his promise to her.