Lady Maxwell was on a low seat bending forwards; the white cap and ruff seemed like a veil thrown all about her head and beneath her chin; she was holding in her arms the body of her son, who seemed to have fainted as he sat beside her; his head had fallen back against her breast, and his pointed beard and dark hair and her black dress beyond emphasised the deathly whiteness of his face on which the candlelight fell; his mouth was open, like a dead man's. Mistress Margaret was kneeling by his left hand, holding it over a basin and delicately sponging it; and the whole air was fragrant and aromatic with some ointment in the water; a long bandage or two lay on the ground beside the basin. The evening light over the opposite roofs through the window beyond mingled with the light of the tapers, throwing a strange radiance over the group. The table on which the tapers stood looked to Isabel like a stripped altar. She stood by the door, her lips parted, motionless; looking with great eyes from face to face. It was as if the door had given access to another world where the passion of Christ was being re-enacted. Then she sank on her knees, still watching. There was no sound but the faint ripple of the water into the basin and the quiet breathing of the three. Lady Maxwell now and then lifted a handkerchief in silence and passed it across her son's face. Isabel, still staring with great wide eyes, began to sigh gently to herself. "Anthony, Anthony, Anthony!" she whispered. "Oh, no, no, no!" she whispered again under her breath. "No, Anthony! you could not, you could not!" Then from the man there came one or two long sighs, ending in a moan that quavered into silence; he stirred slightly in his mother's arms; and then in a piteous high voice came the words "_Jesu ... Jesu ... esto mihi ... Jesus_." Consciousness was coming back. He fancied himself still on the rack. Lady Maxwell said nothing, but gathered him a little closer, and bent her face lower over him. Then again came a long sobbing indrawn breath; James struggled for a moment; then opened his eyes and saw his mother's face. Mistress Margaret had finished with the water; and was now swiftly manipulating a long strip of white linen. Isabel still sunk on her knees watched the bandage winding in and out round his wrist, and between his thumb and forefinger. Then he turned his head sharply towards her with a gasp as if in pain; and his eyes fell on Isabel. "Mistress Isabel," he said; and his voice was broken and untuneful. Mistress Margaret turned; and smiled at her; and at the sight the intolerable compression on the girl's heart relaxed. "Come, child," she said, "come and help me with his hand. No, no, lie still," she added; for James was making a movement as if to rise. James smiled at her as she came forward; and she saw that his face had a strange look as if after a long illness.