Gradually his brain cleared. Sorrow overcame his instinctive awe of a dead body. He felt once more the pulseless arm and studied closely the rigid face. "She is gone!" he sobbingly cried, "and I was so cruel to her last night!"
The memory of his harsh voice, his brutal words, came back to plague him, now that she was deaf to his remorse. How little, how gentle she was, and how self-sacrificing she had been for him! "She burned out her very soul for me," he acknowledged.
He remained beside her thus till the sound of a crying babe on the floor below suggested to him the presence of neighbors. Hastening down-stairs, he knocked upon the first door he came to with frantic insistence.
A slatternly young woman with a crown of flaming red-gold hair came to the door. She smiled in greeting, but his first words startled her.
"My mother is dead. Come up and help me. I don't know what to do."
His tone carried conviction, and the girl did not hesitate a moment. She turned and called: "Father, come here quick. Mrs. Ollnee is dead."
An old man with weak eyes and a loose-hung mouth shuffled forward. To him the girl explained: "This is Mrs. Ollnee's son. He says his mother is dead. I'm going up there. You look out for the baby." She turned back to Victor. "When did she die?"
"I found her cold and still this morning."
"Have you called a doctor?"
"No, I don't know of any to call."