Kate entered the room a little before midnight. She saw one of
Jane's hands raised to impose silence. Emma, still sitting by the
bedside, slept; her head rested on the pillows. The sick had become
the watcher.
'She'd better go to bed,' Kate whispered. 'I'll wake her.'
'No, no You needn't stay, Kate. I don't want anything. Let her sleep
as she is.'
The elder sister left the room. Then Jane approached her head to
that of the sleeper, softly, softly, and her arm stole across Emma's
bosom and rested on her farther shoulder. The fire burned with
little whispering tongues of flame; the circles of light and shade
quivered above the lamp. Abroad the snow fell and froze upon the
ground.
Three days later Alice Mutimer, as she sat at breakfast, was told
that a visitor named Mrs. Clay desired to see her. It was nearly ten
o'clock; Alice had no passion for early rising, and since her
mother's retirement from the common table she breakfasted alone at
any hour which seemed good to her. 'Arry always--or nearly always--left
the house at eight o'clock.
Mrs. Clay was introduced into the dining-room. Alice received her
with an anxious face, for she was anticipating trouble from the
house in Wilton Square. But the trouble was other than she had in
mind.
'Jane died at four o'clock this morning,' the visitor began, without
agitation, in the quick, unsympathetic voice which she always used
when her equanimity was in any way disturbed.
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