Jasper stood on the staircase waiting. Then he heard a step descend. There was no light: the maids, in the excitement and confusion, had forgotten their duties. No lamp on the staircase, none in the hall. Only in the latter the dull glimmer of the horn lantern that irradiated but did not illumine the faces of two who were dead. The oak door at the foot of the stairs was ajar, and a feeble light from this lantern penetrated to the staircase. The window admitted some greyness from the overcast sky.
‘Tell me, Barbara,’ he said, ‘what is the doctor’s report?’
‘Jasper!’ Then Barbara’s strength gave way, and she burst into a flood of tears. He put his arm round her, and she rested her head on his breast and cried herself out. She needed this relief. She had kept control over herself by the strength of her will. There was no one in the house to think for her, to arrange anything; she had the care of everything on her, beside her great sorrow for her father, and fear for Eve. As for the servant girls, they were more trouble than help. Men were in the kitchen; that sufficed to turn their heads and make them leave undone all they ought to have done, and do just those things they ought not to do. At this moment, after the strain, the presence of a sympathetic heart opened the fountain of her tears and broke down her self-restraint.
Jasper did not interrupt her, though he was anxious to know the result of Mr. Coyshe’s examination. He waited patiently, with the weeping girl in his arms, till she looked up and said, ‘Thank you, dear friend, for letting me cry here: it has done me good.’
‘Now, Barbara, tell me all.’
‘Jasper, the doctor says that Eve will live.’
‘God’s name be praised for that!’
‘But he says that she will be nothing but a poor cripple all her days.’
‘Then we must take care of her.’
‘Yes, Jasper, I will devote my life to her.’