Pausing only long enough to see if her patient required attention, Vera returned to her chair, and in its comfortable, upholstered depths her tired muscles relaxed, and she half lay, half sat at ease and surveyed her surroundings. The room and its furnishings were well worth a second look, but an attraction which Vera was powerless to conquer drew her eyes to the transom in the wall separating the room she sat in and the one which had harbored the grim tragedy of the night before.
In her excited state of mind she half expected to see the same faint light appear through the transom which had shone there twenty-odd hours before, but the darkness in the next room was unrelieved. However, even the patch of darkness gave full play to her morbid fancies, and with a shudder she turned her head away—to find Mrs. Porter standing by her side. Too startled to move she gazed in amazement at her employer.
“I slipped in through your bedroom so as not to disturb Craig,” explained Mrs. Porter, in a subdued tone. “The other door lets in so much light from the hall when opened. I have something to say to you—”
“Yes, Mrs. Porter.” Vera was on her feet. “Will you sit here, or shall we—”
“Is Craig asleep?”
Vera moved over to the bed and bent over her patient, then returned.
“Yes, he is still slumbering,” she announced.
“Then I will sit here.” Mrs. Porter pulled forward a companion chair to the one Vera had vacated. “If we speak low our voices cannot disturb Craig in this large room. How is he tonight?”
Vera hesitated, and Mrs. Porter, her eyes sharpened by love, saw it even in the dim night light, and one hand went to her heart.
“I really think Mr. Porter is the same,” answered Vera hastily. “I see—no change.”