The voice paused, and then with difficulty shaped its words again.
"She knew that we should grieve so terribly. She shrank from seeing us. She thought we might be here—and that—partly—made her wander away again—in despair—when she actually got here. But her death was a pure accident—that I am sure of. At the last, she tried to get home—to me. That was the only thing she was conscious of—before she fell. When she was dying—she told me she knew—I was her mother. And now—that she is dead—"
The voice changed and broke—a sudden cry forced its way through—
"Now that she is dead—no one else shall claim her—but me. She's mine now—my child—forever—only mine!"
She broke off incoherently, bowing her head upon her hands, her slight shoulders shaken by her sobs.
The room was silent, save for a rather general clearing of throats. Meynell signalled to the doctor. They both rose and went to her. Meynell whispered to her.
The Coroner spoke, drawing his handkerchief hastily across his eyes.
"The Court is very grateful to you, Miss Puttenham, for this frank and brave statement. We tender you our best thanks. There is no need for us to detain you longer."
She rose, and Meynell led her from the room. Outside was a nurse to whom he resigned her.
"My dear, dear friend!" Trembling, her eyes met the deep emotion in his. "That was right—that will bring you help. Aye! you have her now—all, all your own."