Outside she met Thomson. "Are you going in, Miss? I'm glad of that. Mr. Ashendyne isn't one of these people whom their own company suffices—"
Hagar raised sombre eyes. "I thought that my father had always been sufficient to himself—"
"Not in trouble, Miss."
He knocked at the door for her. Medway's voice answered, strangely jerky, quick, and harsh. "What is it? Come in!"
Thomson opened the door. "It's Miss Hagar, sir," then closed it upon her and glided away down the corridor.
Medway was lying well up upon his pillows, staring at the light upon the wall. He had sent away the nurse. He did not speak, and Hagar, moving quietly, went here and there in the large room, that was as large as an audience chamber. At the windows she drew the jalousies yet closer, making a rich twilight in the room. There were flowers on a table, and she brought fresh water and filled the bowl in which they lived. There were books in a small case, and, kneeling before it, she read over their titles, and taking one from the shelf went softly through it, looking at the pictures.
At last, with it still in her hand, she came to her accustomed seat near the bed. "It's a bad day for you," she said simply. "I am very sorry."
"Do you object to my swearing?"
"Not especially, if it helps you."
"It won't—I'll put it off.... Oh—h...." He turned his head and shoulders as best he could, until his face was buried in the pillows. The bed shook with his heavy, gasping sobs....