“I never dreamed—I was afraid when I got Carr’s message that she was ill, but that a thing like this should have come——!”
“George!” Storm rose and their hands clasped. “I sent for you as soon as I could! I can’t talk about it, I can’t realize it! It is like some horrible nightmare! You won’t leave me? You’ll stay here and see me through?”
“I’m here, ain’t I?” George gulped fiercely. “I suppose you’ve been badgered enough, and I won’t add to it, but for God’s sake tell me a little! Remember, I loved her, too!”
“I know you did, and she had a very real affection for you.” Storm averted his head, for the sight of the other’s genuine sorrow was unnerving.
“All I could get out of Millard was that you found her dead this morning, and that Carr said it was her old trouble, that catalepsy—petit mal, they call it, don’t they? I never thought it could prove fatal!”
“It didn’t. But she fell, striking her head——!” Storm paused eloquently. “When you see her, George, you’ll understand. It’s too awful, I can’t——”
“But where is she? What have they done with her?” George glanced toward the closed door, and Storm shook his head.
“In the den. Agnes found her there and screamed——”
But Agnes herself appeared in the doorway, cutting his sentence short.
“If you please, Mr. Storm, the gentlemen downstairs would like to speak to you.”