The house was evidently in hopeless confusion. Servants wandered in every direction without order. Doctor after doctor passed in and out and the sickening odour of medicines filled the air. A group of newspaper reporters stood at the foot of the grand stairway, discussing in subdued whispers his chances of life and the probable effect of his death on the market. The last barrier was down and through the confusion and panic Stuart could feel the chill of the silently approaching presence. Slowly, remorselessly, the white messenger of Eternity was drawing near.
Nan stood shivering at the head of the stairs, pale, dishevelled, her dark eyes wide and staring with a new expression of terror in their depths.
"How is he, Nan?"
She stared at him a moment without seeming to understand until Stuart repeated his question.
"Worse," she stammered through chattering teeth. "The doctors say he can't possibly live. He has been calling for me for the last hour. I—can't—go!"
"Why?"
"I'm afraid!"
He took her hand. It was cold and he felt a tremour run through her body at his touch.
"Come, come, Nan, you're not a silly child, but a woman who has passed through scenes in life that held tragedies darker than death!"
"I can't help it; I'm afraid," she cried, shivering and drawing closer.