“He is, now,” Eleanor hesitated. “The doctor at first thought he might develop brain fever, but I am told all danger of that is past.”
“What is the matter with him?” persisted Cynthia. “I asked the nurse what the trouble was, but she never told me. Was his attack also caused by the shock of Uncle James’ death?”
“Yes, from shock,” answered Eleanor, mechanically. “You must not blame your aunt if her manner is distrait; she is a very reserved woman and dreads, above all things, letting herself go and breaking down.”
“Oh, I hope she will keep well, she has been so unhappy. I can’t bear to think of her suffering more, but,” she laid her hand pleadingly on Eleanor’s arm, “you haven’t answered my question about the autopsy.”
“Yes, they held one.”
“And what was discovered?” eagerly.
“That Senator Carew was perfectly well physically, and that his death was caused by a stab from the sharp-pointed letter file.”
Cynthia suddenly covered her eyes with her hand, and lay for some minutes without speaking. “Is Hamilton still in jail?” she questioned finally.
“Yes, he is being held for the inquest.”