“Surprising, after we know what happened,” he admitted, speaking in little more than a whisper. “But, recollect, Martha, ’tain’t up to us to talk. If ye do”—His look caused her to catch her breath. “Well, ye know what’s coming to ye. Ye understand”—and he seized her arm and turned it until she winced with pain.
“Leave me be!” She winced again as Corbin, with a final twist, released her arm. “You’ve no call to handle me so.”
Corbin’s only answer was a vicious scowl and Martha shrank back, one hand to her trembling lips.
“I don’t need to speak twice,” he commented. “You know me.”
She nodded dumbly as she retreated behind a chair.
“Did ye hear when the nurse was leaving?” she asked.
The question went unanswered as Corbin, his attention attracted by voices on the floor above, slipped noiselessly down the passageway through which he had entered some minutes earlier unseen by his wife. Left to her own devices, Martha picked up a box of matches and lighted one of the lamps. She had succeeded in adjusting the wick when she looked up and caught sight of Betty Carter regarding her from the lower landing of the staircase.
“Light the others,” Betty directed. “All of them—every one”—indicating with a wave of her hand the standing lamp at the foot of the stairs and several reading lamps placed on small tables near comfortable lounging chairs where Paul Abbott and his guests had been wont to pass the long winter evenings. Betty waited on the stair landing until her peremptory order had been carried out, then slowly approached the fireplace. She turned back on reaching there and addressed Martha.
“Take my coat,” she said, extending it. “And my hat”—She removed it as she spoke. “And prepare a bedroom for me.”
“A what, Miss?”