“Come, Hephzibah,” she said, soothingly. “There is nothing here; you are mistaken. Come down-stairs. You are distressed, poor thing, by the terrible memory of your nursing in this very room. Do not think of it. I cannot trust my own thoughts to dwell on those days.”
“‘COME UP-STAIRS,’ SHE REITERATED”
But the waiting-woman took no heed. She had fallen on her knees, and remained thus, her face averted towards the closed door of the inner chamber.
“O God, have mercy!” she wailed. “She doesn’t hear it! What have I done? If I have done wrong, my fault is as nothing compared to her sin! She must hear it. Surely she must hear it.” She paused a moment, and in a calmer tone, “It isn’t fair,” she said.
Ursula had clutched her by the shoulder.
“What do you mean? What do you know?” asked Ursula, resolutely.
Still the woman did not seem to hear her.
“Hush!” said Hephzibah, falling, with uplifted finger, into her earlier attitude of intentness. “Listen. A sobbing, choking noise, as of a man gasping for breath. I often hear it there. Not always. If I always heard it it might be fancy.”