A small shrunken figure with bandaged head and hands was sitting in an arm-chair. The eyes of the rigid, discolored face were fixed.
Dr. Brown took the bandage off Hester's head, and smoothed her hair.
"He is coming up-stairs now," he said, shaking her gently by the shoulders. "Regie is coming up-stairs now to see you. Regie is quite well, and he is coming in now to see you."
"Regie is dead, you old gray wolf," said Hester, in a monotonous voice. "I killed him in the back-yard. The place is quite black, and it smokes."
"Look at the door," repeated Dr. Brown, over and over again. "He is coming in at the door now."
Hester trembled, and looked at the door. The doctor noticed, with a frown, that she could hardly move her eyes.
Regie stood in the doorway, holding the Bishop's hand. The cold snow light fell upon the gallant little figure and white face.
The doctor moved between Hester and the window. His shadow was upon her.
The hearts of the two men beat like hammers.
A change came over Hester's face.