"He was to have had a nice evening, he said," she murmured in a dreary tone. Oakhurst hardly knew whether or no to answer.
"Come, show me," she said again, taking her shawl, and wrapping it round her, and then, taking the crucifix from the wall, she kissed it and passed it to Edmund.
"My only father now," she whispered to herself. They went down the old stairs in silence, the frightened landlady standing at the door, trembling like an aspen-leaf.
"Tell me," said Grace when they were in the street, "how was it? Did he fall?"
"Yes, he fell," answered he, hesitating; she saw it.
"You can tell me all," she said dreamily; "he was getting short-sighted; from study, you know. Did he stumble? Or was it something struck him?"
"Yes, he was coming out of the house—standing near the door—it did not hurt him much, and he was insensible."
"And was it all over at once?"
"Before we could get him to the hospital."
"Was there a doctor?"