Her voice rose to a wail, for even as she spoke, even as she cradled him in her arms, the bolt fell,—so suddenly, so swiftly, that one second it was not, and the next it was there. One side of the face crumpled and fell, the eye closed, the mouth stretched in a ghastly grin. His wife seized his right arm, and shook it violently, but it fell to his side, heavy as lead. Within the loose tweed coat the shoulder seemed to disappear.
“Mother, Mother!” cried Teresa wildly, “you were so kind to him. You were so kind... You didn’t blame him one bit.”
They got him to bed and sent for the doctor, but he never regained consciousness. Before the afternoon was over he had breathed his last.
“And now, I suppose,” Mrs Mallison said dully, “Mary will come home.”
Chapter Thirty.
A Meeting.
Mary came speeding home by the first train after receipt of the telegraphic message, and arrived at the Cottage on the afternoon of the following day.
A strange maid with a scared expression opened the door, and stared aghast as the new arrival pushed past her into the dining-room.