A sudden sweeping consciousness of the things that it would mean if Rachel were dead flowed over her. Her heart stopped—that way—at least—Francis Breton might be saved....
The room, dark as pitch before her, was filled now with a red glow—Her hands, clenched, were ice in a world that was all of an overpowering heat.
Lizzie never afterwards could remember what then exactly happened.
She was worked to a pitch of anger, she was thinking to herself, "What would be a way? ... anything to save him...."
"She shouldn't have taunted me with that"—when, suddenly, exactly as though someone had taken her brain and emptied it, she had forgotten Rachel, had forgotten her own personal injury, forgotten her anger, was only aware that, with every nerve in her body on edge, she was waiting for some sound—
Like an answer to an invocation, the sound, through the closed window, came—
IV
She must have made some startled noise, because she heard Rachel say, "What is it?"
She fled to the window and opened it. She could see nothing, but she could hear, as she had known all day that she would hear, steps, stumbling, falling heavily, upon the heavy gravel path.