There were not many people abroad that bad November day; but those who were, and who recognized Mrs. Wyndham through her vail, and bowed ceremoniously, felt themselves outraged at receiving the cut direct. She never saw them—she walked straight forward to that stately home that was hers no longer, as people walk in sleep, with eyes wide open and staring straight before her, but seeing nothing.
Dr. Leach went into the sick-room as the others left it; but he returned presently, frowning again.
"Where is the fellow to be found?" he asked, impatiently; "she will excite herself in spite of all I can say. She must see him, she says, if only for ten minutes."
"Is it Mr. Wyndham?" asked Miss Rose; and the doctor nodded crossly.
It was the first time that the dying girl had spoken of him; and Miss Rose, who knew he was in the house, left the room without a word.
"Oh, he is here, is he?" said Dr. Leach. "I might have known it! Hem! Here he comes!"
Paul Wyndham followed the governess into the parlor, looking so haggard that even the old doctor pitied him.
"Now, Mr. Wyndham," he said, "my patient is not to be unnecessarily excited, remember! I give you just ten minutes, not a second more!"
Mr. Wyndham bowed his head and passed into the chamber; and Dr. Leach, watch in hand, planted himself at the door, and grimly counted the minutes. When the ten had passed, he opened the door.
"Time's up," he said; "say good-bye, Mr. Wyndham, and come out!"