The roll of letters was a black mass spangled over with sparks and corroding lines of fire when Mrs. Jael came in with the hood of her cloak turned back. She waited till Rogers had closed the door, and even then looked at it suspiciously, as though afraid that the fellow might be listening. Stephen Gore understood her meaning. He opened it, found the passage empty, and, closing the door again, stood with his back to it and his hand upon the latch.
“Your message?”
Mrs. Jael fidgeted her arms under her cloak, and looked hot and a little scared.
“My lady has sent me, my lord—”
“Well, well?”
“She must see you to-night; she will take no denial; I am bidden to bring you back.”
Stephen Gore frowned at her didactic tone and the menace in her manner.
“Indeed!”
“She cannot bear it alone, my lord; she must speak with you; we fear that she is dying.”
“Dying?”