The two looked at her without being able to answer. Suddenly she bounded up erect, her fists striking her forehead.
"It is I who have done it!" she cried, and for the second time fell back lifeless on the floor.
"Go down now; send the trunks back," said Mrs. Kildair to Beecher. "Tell him to do it as quickly as possible—no, tell him nothing. Go quickly."
When Beecher returned, Mrs. Bloodgood was on her feet again, passing from spot to spot ceaselessly, one hand clutching a handkerchief to press back the sobs that shook her from time to time, the other stretched out in front of her, beating a mechanical time to the one phrase which she repeated again and again:
"I've done it—I've done it—I've done it!"
Mrs. Kildair, leaning by the piano, knowing that each period must have its expression, awaited the right moment. Beecher, at a sign from her, slipped quietly into a chair.
"Yes, it's I—it's I—I!" said the indistinguishable voice.
"You have done nothing," said Mrs. Kildair solemnly. "It is fate."
"No, no. Only I am to blame," she answered, stopping short, each word coming slowly through the torrents of tears.
Mrs. Kildair passed quietly to her side.