"Is that his cottage?" whispered Shiela.
"Yes.... His room is there where the windows are open.... They keep them open, you know.... Do you want to go in?"
"Oh, may I see him!"
"No, dear.... Only I often sit in the corridor outside.... But perhaps you could not endure it—"
"Endure what?"
"To hear—to listen—to his—breathing—"
"Let me go with you!" she whispered, clasping her hands, "let me go with you, Miss Palliser. I will be very quiet, I will do whatever you tell me—only let me go with you!"
Miss Clay, just released from duty, met them at the door.
"There is nothing to say," she said; "of course every hour he holds out is an hour gained. The weather is more favourable. Miss Race will show you the chart."
As Shiela entered the house the ominous sounds from above struck her like a blow; she caught her breath and stood perfectly still, one hand pressing her breast.