He nodded. “Yes.” His voice died into a hoarse murmur.
“How dared you when I’d forbidden it?” she cried weakly. Great tears slid down the hollow cheeks. She suddenly burst into uncontrollable, frenzied sobs that shook the feeble body.
Fear gripped Alexis as he watched her writhe in a vain effort to control herself.
“Don’t, dear Claire,” he cried, touching with clumsy fingers a lock of hair which clung against the drenched cheek.
“I wanted to spare you this,” she gasped, raising drowned eyes to his.
A flood of shame swept over Alexis, together with an unbearable, wrenching pity. Pity for the suffering he had inflicted. Shame for the unheeded seed sowed so wantonly and without love. Despair that his heart should be empty of all save compassion. Futile, shameful anger against Claire that it was she, the unloved, and not Anne, who was to mother his first-born. Face drawn and gray, he bent over Claire in an agony of contrition.
“Don’t, Claire, don’t. You will hurt yourself!” He looked up at the doctor, who had risen and was trying to appear unconscious of a scene which was literally tearing at his very marrow. “Hadn’t we better carry her into her room and put her to bed, Elliott?”
The power of speech had deserted Elliott. He nodded. They were about to gather her up in their arms, but Claire pushed them away, almost with violence.
“No, I will not stop here another night, with Aunt. I couldn’t bear it!”
Alexis shot a desperate look at the other man, who shook his head gravely. “She had better be humored,” he said decisively.