“Go, dearest,” he said, bending down and kissing her on the forehead. “Go. God help you! God help us both!”
Barbara ran down-stairs.
“Pelham, this is a grand thing for you,” said Tarbot.
“I forbid you to speak of the change in my prospects to-night,” said the young man impetuously. “I cannot stand this—it all looks——”
“What do you mean?”
“The least said, soonest mended,” said Pelham. “I am in no fit state to speak to any one now. I will leave you, Dr. Tarbot. I can do no good here. I will come back in the morning.”
He rushed down-stairs, and the next instant let himself out of the house.
Tarbot remained on the landing a moment; then he returned to the boy’s nursery. Already over the features of the child that look of repose had crept which only death is supposed to give. The nurse was beginning to lay out the little body. She now stood still awaiting the doctor’s directions.
“Death has come rather sooner than I expected,” said Dr. Tarbot. “It was doubtless due to shock—the shock which caused death was the sudden appearance on the scene of Sir Richard Pelham.”
The nurse stood up and stared full at Tarbot. She made no reply. There was a scornful expression round her lips.