Mr. Graham was out, but Mrs. Graham was in her room in the extension, away from the sounds of the household. Nurse Hummel called her as she carried Gwen to her room, and the horror in the old nurse’s voice penetrated Mrs. Graham’s ears through the closed doors.
She rushed out, and in an instant the children heard her low cry, and then her voice raised to a shriek. “Sydney, Sydney!” she cried, “ride on your wheel for a doctor as fast as you can! Get the first one who will come! Then ride for Dr. Amberton, the oculist. Look in the directory for his address. Hurry, oh, for Heaven’s sake, hurry, Syd!”
Sydney rushed from the room, and with one impulse Gladys and Jan turned to each other, and held each other close, too frightened for tears. Viva was comforting Jerry on the stairs. No one remembered Jack, who most of all in the stricken household was to be pitied then. The boy slunk away, withdrawing his hand from Drom’s compassionate tongue, and crawling up the stairs, never stopped till he had reached the top of the house, and crept shivering into the cupola, where he lay down, a little heap of misery, to wait till Gwen had died, and they came to seize him.
For hours it seemed to him he waited, yet no one came. He was cold, but he did not mind that. In those awful moments he lived and thought such agony that it seemed to him if they did not imprison him it would do no harm to let him go free, for never again, never, could he be insane with a fit of passion such as had made him begin the New Year by killing his sister—or blinding her, was it? It did not matter. Jack was wise enough to know that Gwen blind would not care for life.
At last a step came slowly, lightly, up the stairs, and Jack cowered breathless. It was but one person, and not a policeman, not his father, than whom Jack would rather face an army. It was a girlish step—Jan? For the first time a ray of hope penetrated the gloom of poor Jack’s mind. Jan always came to help. The door opened. It was Jan.
“O Jack, poor, poor little Jack,” she sobbed, and, kneeling, put her arms around him with a tenderness he was too broken to resent. “I’m so sorry for you! I know how dreadfully you feel now.”
“Is Gwen dead?” whispered Jack.
“No, oh, no, dear,” said Jan.
“Blind?” whispered Jack again.
“They don’t know. They can’t tell yet,” groaned Jan. “O poor, poor, clever, dear Gwen, with all her plans, and her beautiful eyes!”