A messenger was despatched for a
doctor.
Emma did not move; she was not weeping, but paid no attention to any
words addressed to her. The room was thronged with curious
neighbours, there was a hubbub of talk. When at length the medical
man arrived, he cleared the chamber of all except Emma. After a
brief examination of the body he said to her:
'You are his wife?'
She, still kneeling, looked up into his face with pained
astonishment.
'His wife? Oh no! I am a stranger.'
The doctor showed surprise.
'He was killed in your presence?'
'He is dead--really dead?' she asked under her breath. And, as she
spoke, she laid her hand upon his arm.
'He must have been killed instantaneously. Did the stone fall in the
room? Was it a stone?'
No one had searched for the missile. The doctor discovered it not
far away. Whilst he was weighing it in his hand there came a knock
at the door. It was Mr. Westlake who entered. He came and looked at
the dead man, then, introducing himself, spoke a few words with the
doctor. Assured that there was no shadow of hope, he withdrew,
having looked closely at Emma, who now stood a little apart, her
hands held together before her.
The doctor departed a few moments later. He had examined the wound
on the girl's face, and found that it was not serious.
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