"No," gasped Dorothy.
"When did you see him last? How long before he died?"
Again that same imploring look: but no answer.
"You must tell me, Dorothy."
"Not for weeks and weeks, ma'am," spoke the woman then, but with evident reluctance.
"That was strange, was it not? considering that you were always so great a favourite with Uncle Gilbert."
Dorothy lifted the corner of her clean white linen apron, and wiped her face with trembling fingers. She seemed to gather a little courage. "When he had that Mrs. Dexter, ma'am, he didn't want me, I take it. She was the nurse, and she didn't let anybody go near the master."
"She kept him shut up behind the green baize doors, and would not let him be seen by anyone: that is what you mean?"
"That was just it, ma'am," assented Dorothy, more eagerly.
"But they let you see him after he was dead--you who had been his faithful servant for so many years? Surely they let you look for the last time on that dear face so soon to be hidden for ever?"