“Is he——?” he whispered, and stopped.
The girl beckoned him into the sitting-room.
“’E’s never stirred all night,” she whispered. “I dunno if ’e isn’t dead; I never see any one lie so still. The nurse wouldn’t sit there like a wooden image if ’e was dead, would she, sir?”
“Surely not,” said David Linton. “Where is Miss Norah?”
“Kneelin’ alongside of ’im, same like she was when you was here. She ain’t never stirred, neither. An’ I’ll bet a dollar she must be stiff!”
“And Mrs. Hunt?”
“She’s in there, wiv ’em. She ’ad a little sleep; not much. No one’s said one word in this ’ouse all night.”
“Why didn’t you go to bed?” David Linton said, looking down at the pinched old face and the stooping shoulders. He had never noticed Eva very much; now he felt a sudden wave of pity for the little London servant. She loved Geoffrey too in her queer way.
“Not me!” said Eva defiantly. “And ’im very near dyin’. I been boilin’ the kettle every hour or so, but none of ’em came out for tea. Will you ’ave a cup, sir?”
A refusal was on his lips, but he changed his mind.