"From the bed."
"The bed!" she repeated; and her heart beat with a sick faintness as she felt, for the twentieth time, that henceforth he could only be questioned as a child. "From the bed you lay in when you were ill?"
"Yes."
"Were you ill long?"
"No. I lay in it after I got well: my head and my legs were not strong. They turned. It was the bed in the kitchen with the large white pillows. They slept in the back room."
"Who did?"
"Paul and Marie. She's his wife."
"Did they take care of you?"
"Yes, they took care of me. Little Paul used to fetch the water. He's seven."
"Do you remember——" (she spoke the words with trembling, lest the name should excite him) "Mr. Hardcastle?"