He could scarcely fit the latch-key his hands were so unsteady.
There were people in the hall, partly clad. He heard his own name in frightened exclamation.
"What is it?" he managed to ask.
A servant stammered: "Mr. Clive—it's all over, sir. Mrs. Bailey is asking for you, sir."
"Is my father—" but he could not go on.
"Yes, sir. His man heard him call—once—like he was dreamin' bad. But when he got to him Mr. Bailey was gone.... The doctor has just arrived, sir."
For one instant hope gleamed athwart the stunning crash of his senses: he steadied himself on the newel post. Then, in his ear a faint voice echoed: "Dearest—dearest!" And, knowing that hope also lay dead, he lifted his young head, straightened up, and set his foot heavily on the first step upward into a new and terrible world of grief.