"I couldn't," she said. "He hasn't read. It won't be necessary?"
"Necessary," the man answered, "but you were right. Not in that way. It leaves too much evidence. As the others went."
"No more death," she cried. "There has been too much death."
"These days the world is full of death," he answered. "What are one or two here?"
The voice carried as little expression as the face or the figure, but an accent, which Garth knew, hindered its flow, and defined the situation with a brutal clearness.
He turned at a slipping behind him, a heavy fall. Alden lay on the floor, his hand stretched towards the futile spot of white beneath the table. His wife stumbled across and knelt beside him, restlessly fingering his shoulders.
"Andrew!" she cried. "You don't understand. Look at me. You have to understand. I love you. Nothing changes that."
The newcomer moved to her, and, without relaxing his vigilance, grasped her arm.
"There's too much to be done to-night for tears. Keep your watch."
He indicated Garth.