She went lightly up the stair, to the door of her husband’s room; she knocked lightly. A nurse opened. “Who is it, please! I don’t think——”
“I am Mrs. Germain. I must come in.”
Mrs. James, the doctrine of the Soul’s immortality lambent upon her features, stood by the window talking in whispers to a great physician. Another, equally imposing, was by the bed, his hand on the sick man’s pulse. At Mary’s entry the lady broke away and came towards her. The light of conflict was in her eyes, tight upon her lips; she was prepared for reproof in any form—but none came. Mary did not see her. She walked past her on tiptoe, to the edge of the bed, and sat herself in a chair which stood there, and looked at the shadow which was not her own. It hovered, now, moved no more. Sir Lambton Tweedale, his investigation ended, joined his colleague by the window.
Mary thought that he was dead. He lay on his back with nearly closed eyes, and she could discern no movement for breath. His face was colourless, and so frail, so diaphanous did he look, she thought that she could see the colour of his eyes through the lids, a haunting thought. He seemed to be watching her through them, as if they were a thin veil—to be reading her, whether guilty or not. Of pity for him lying there so noble, so patient, and so fordone; of awe before his remoteness from her lot, his immortal indifference; of remorse for what had been, or a shudder for what might have been—she had none. But her eyes watched him intently, with a new power in them, a fierce and feverish light—as if she had the will and the means to draw the dead back to life. For one half-hour only, to fulfil one need. He must hear her tell him her story; and then he might die in peace.
One of the great pair came to where she sat on the watch, and bowed. “Mrs. Germain, I think?”
She nodded sharply, without turning her eyes.
“I could—we could—have wished that you had received earlier notice of this serious turn. It seems to have been Mr. Germain’s express desire that you should not be needlessly alarmed. He was perfectly conscious and master of himself twenty-four hours ago. But a great change took place yesterday afternoon, it appears. Neither Sir Lambton nor myself can be held answerable for——”
She stopped him by an impatient movement of her head. “Do you think he is—in danger?”
“Undoubtedly. It is right that you should know that it is serious.”
“He will die?”