Her voice trembled. Tears came very easily to Mrs. Asshlin, and her habitual attitude of mourning had heretofore irritated Milbanke. But now her thin face and faded black garments came as a curiously welcome contrast to the bland affluence, the genial, complacent superiority of Molyneaux. He turned to her with a feeling of warmth.
"Forgive my delay, Mrs. Asshlin!" he said gently. "One is never in a hurry to impart bad news. Doctor Molyneaux holds out no hope—not a shadow of hope."
There was a pause; then Mrs. Asshlin made a tragic gesture.
"Oh, the children!" she murmured. "The poor, poor children! What will become of them?"
"The children will be provided for," Milbanke said hastily. Then, without giving her time for question or astonishment, he went on again:
"Don't say anything of this to Clodagh," he enjoined. "She must have these last hours in peace."
"Certainly—certainly! Poor Denis! Poor Denis! I always said he would have an unfortunate end. But go in and see him, Mr. Milbanke. Clodagh is in the room."
Milbanke silently acquiesced, and moved slowly down the corridor.
At the door of her father's room, he found Nance still patiently watchful. He paused, arrested by his new sense of obligation, and looked down into the upturned, wistful little face.
"What are you doing here, Nance?" he asked kindly.