“Stop,” said he. “There is something else.” She drew a step nearer. “I can't bear much more,” she said quietly.
“It may relieve your mind to know that I have withdrawn the charge entirely. He is perfectly free.”
She stared at him for a moment, then grew deadly white and fainted. The girl's overtaxed strength had given way at last. Sylvester caught her in his arms and prepared to carry her to her room not far off along the passage; but at that moment Miss Agatha Lanyon with Simmons turned the corner, and he gave Ella into their charge.
“I'm staying with my father,” he said to Simmons. “Come in later.”
On the other side of his father's door he forgot the recent scene. Of what importance was a girl's fainting compared with the death hovering in this chamber and the death enthroned in his heart? He approached the bed. Matthew looked up at him wistfully.
“You can't expect me to live for ever, you know. I really have had enough of it, so don't fret.”
A thrush fluttered against the window for a moment. Matthew started.
“What was that?”
“Only a bird beating against the pane, attracted by the fire, perhaps.”
“We do that all our lives long. The invisible barrier. Oh, it's time to go, Syl, when a man begins to moralise. The moral always comes at the end of the story. Sit down on the bed, my son. I want to talk to you.” Sylvester obeyed. An expression of pain crossed his face. The old man's undismayed serenity moved his admiration. He would have given worlds to have uttered the cry of grief and love that would have been possible an hour ago.