Stephen's face was buried in the pillow beside his wife's. A glance told her what had happened during her absence from the room. She stepped to the bedside and placed her hand gently on the man's shoulder; she felt him shrink from the sudden touch.
“Come,” she said kindly. “You mustn't stay here any longer, Mr. Landray. You go on down-stairs and ask Mrs. Bassett to come up here to me.”
“Is she—” he gasped chokingly.
He had risen to his feet, and she urged him away from the bedside with gentle but determined force.
“You must go down-stairs, Mr. Landray,” she insisted.
“She never spoke—never once,” he cried, turning his bloodshot eyes on her.
“But she knew you; do go down-stairs, Mr. Landray, indeed, you mustn't stay here any longer.”
She had pushed him from the room as she spoke, and he crossed the hall and went slowly and heavily down the narrow steps.