“What do you mean?” asked Mrs. Norris. Before I could answer she suddenly opened her heart to me.
“So many things have happened and are happening which I cannot understand,” said she. “My husband has never taken me into his confidence. I have long known that he was troubled about something. It has always seemed to annoy him if I rapped ever so softly on the door of his mystery. Now I do not dare to come near it for fear of making him worse. You seem to know the man Wilton. Who is he? Why does he turn up in Italy? I detest him, and I am sure that my husband does also.”
“Mr. Norris has had business relations with him, but they are now at an end,” I answered.
“So I had hoped,” said she. “But he called here to see my husband yesterday. Of course he didn't succeed. The nurse gave Mr. Norris the card, and his symptoms changed suddenly and were alarming. I am terribly worried and nervous. I love my husband, and I've felt often that I haven't been a good wife to him, but he would not let me.”
Her eyes had filled with tears.
“Your unhappiness will end this night. Come with me to Whitfield's room. He has something to tell you. He asked me to meet you here.”
“How strange!” said Mrs. Norris, as she rose with a frightened look.
I led the way, and we proceeded in silence to the room where Norris lay. His mother sat beside him on the bed.
“Mary and Gwendolyn, come here,” he said.
He took a hand of each in his as they stood by his bedside.