tried to speak, to drown the sound of the breathing; but her lips trembled too much, and she remained silent.
Wyant seemed to hear nothing. He stood so still that she felt she must move forward. As she did so, she picked up from the table by the bed the memoranda that it was her duty to submit to him.
“Well?” he said, in the familiar sick-room whisper.
“She is dead.”
He fell back a step, glaring ather, white and incredulous.
“Dead?— When?”
“A few minutes ago.…”
“Dead—? It’s not possible!”
He swept past her, shouldering her aside, pushing in an electric button as he sprang to the bed. She perceived then that the room had been almost in darkness. She recovered command of herself, and followed him. He was going through the usual rapid examination—pulse, heart, breath—hanging over the bed like some angry animal balked of its prey. Then he lifted the lids and bent close above the eyes.
“Take the shade off that lamp!” he commanded.
Justine obeyed him.
He stooped down again to examine the eyes … he remained stooping a long time. Suddenly he stood up and faced her.
[ 434 ]
