"Who else is there here?" proceeded Ilingsworth, without formality.
"Nellie, the girl that lives here," she told him in lowered tones. "He takes care of her. She's been sick—he's had to stay up nights and work all day, and it's a pity to wake him up...."
"He hasn't retired yet, then?" asked Leslie, inanely, for want of something better to say.
But whatever would have been the woman's reply it did not reach her lips, for just at that moment there was a stir, an exclamation from the corner of the room, and a man rising to his full height—a man, tall, strong, bronzed, clad in workman's clothes, cried out sharply:
"Who's voice was that? I thought I heard a voice...."
The woman waved the two out in the hall, and answered:
"No, she hasn't stirred."
Beekman stretched his arms, and replied, lowering his voice:
"I don't mean Nell. I mean her voice—Leslie's. Who's out there, Miss Braine?"
Madeline motioned to Ilingsworth and Leslie to come in, but at the very moment they entered a young voice rose from the next room, and cried in all its weakness: