“‘It’s worse than either of us thought—he’s dead, Edith!’”
Drysdale paused a moment. His voice was shaking so that he could not go on. He wiped his forehead mechanically, with trembling hand.
“Godfrey,” he said, at last, “I tell you my own heart stood still at those words, uttered in such a tone—there was no mistaking her meaning—and it was a moment before I could see clearly enough to discern Mrs. Delroy’s look of horror as she stared up at her sister.
“‘Not that!’ she cried. ‘Not on your hands! Oh, why did you go? Why did you go? What have you done?’
“She swayed, clutched blindly at the air, and would have fallen had not her sister caught her in her arms. That brought my senses back, and I sprang out from the shadow of the curtains.
“‘Let me help you, Grace,’ I said, as calmly as I could.
“She turned upon me a face dead but for the awful horror of the eyes looking out from it.
“‘You!’ she whispered. ‘You! You here!’
“‘Certainly,’ I said. ‘Weren’t you expecting me, Grace?’
“She controlled herself by a mighty effort; I saw how much stronger she was than her sister.
“‘Oh, yes,’ she said, more quietly. ‘I’d forgotten. You see, Edith is ill. Will you ring?’
“I rang the bell and in a moment Mrs. Delroy was carried away. Miss Croydon lingered a moment.
“‘I must go, John,’ she said, with something like her
