"Oh, Mrs. Langdon, it 'twant my fault. I didn't mean to do no harm. Oh, Mrs. Langdon, I wisht I'd heeded the wind! It must've been warning me. I wisht I'd gone to the Ghost River, when it called to me to come."
Mrs. Langdon's head had slowly dropped forward, just as if the neck had broken. Nettie, beneath her, sought the glance of her eyes, and saw the effort of the moving lips.
"God's—will," said the woman slowly. "A dem-on-stration—of—God. I—had—to leave, Nettie. God's will you—take—my—place."
Across the half-paralyzed face something flickered strangely like a faint smile. Then the girl saw her mistress fall, inert and still against the staircase.
A loud cry broke from the frantic Nettie.
"We've killed her! We've killed Mrs. Langdon!"
"Killed her—nothing," said the man hoarsely, his face twitching and his hands shaking. "I told you she was 'bout ready to croak, and you heard what she said. You was to take her place. That means——"
Nettie had arisen, and her eyes wide with loathing she stared at him in a sort of mad fury. Somehow she seemed to grow strong and tall, and there was a light of murder in her eyes.
"I'd sooner drown myself in the Ghost River," she said.
Like one gone blind she felt her way to her room, and this time the man did not follow her.