The words broke from both the girls in chorus. "Dead? What do you mean? What nonsense are you talking? He was well enough when I went out. I've never seen him better." "He's had an accident, ma'am, and it's killed him." "Accident? How could he have an accident? Is Dr. Twelves in the house? Where is he?" "The doctor is in Mr. Cuthbert's room. He's been there this half-hour and more." She went upstairs to Mr. Cuthbert's room. Her pulse did not quicken; inwardly as well as outwardly she remained calm; she was a woman whose self-control was above the average; yet she was reluctant to enter that room. It was with an effort she induced herself to grip the handle; when she had done so she had to force herself to give it the necessary twist. Even then she lingered on the threshold. "Who's there?" came the doctor's voice, in accents of inquiry. She showed herself. "What's happened? What's the matter?" The doctor was standing at the head of the bed. He had something in either hand. Instead of replying to her inquiries he looked at her from beneath his overhanging brows, as if he had been her accuser. "Why do you look at me like that? Do you hear me ask you what has happened? Have you all lost your senses? Why don't you answer?" He waved his hand towards the bed. Her gaze followed his gesture, with an effort. She knew what she would see; she did not want to see it. Instantly her glance returned to the doctor. "Is he--is he dead?" "Quite dead." "But I don't understand. When I left him he seemed brighter and better than I have ever seen him before." "He's been killed." "Killed! What do you mean, he's been killed?" "Come here, I'll show you." She went a little closer, unwillingly. "Come this side of the bed." She did as he bade her, with leaden feet. "You see, the pillows have fallen; he's been choked." "But how can they have fallen? They were all right when I left him. Has any one been in since?" "Are you sure they were all right when you left him?" "Perfectly sure. I tell you I have never seen him in better health or in brighter spirits." "He could not have pushed them from under him himself." "He might have done it in a fit." "Perhaps; but it would have had to be a singular sort of a fit. You say you are sure they were in their usual position when you left him?" "Why do you ask me that again? Why do you look at me like that, and speak in such a tone? Are you suggesting that I have had a hand in his death?" "I am suggesting nothing." "It seems to me that you are suggesting a good deal, which you dare not say right out. At least your manner is peculiar--but that it generally is. If you have anything to say, say it--like a man!--at once! Don't hint it, like a sneak. I hate your underhanded ways." "I found this under his pillow--his one remaining pillow." "It's his will. He made it this morning." "So I am told by the two servants. I perceive it is in your writing. Did he dictate to you this document?"