All was silent there. Janey and Harry had gone up to Hulver to sail his boat after tea, and the house was deserted. Tommy, the gardener's boy, the only person to whom Harry had confided his marriage, was clipping the edges of the newly-mown grass beneath Lady Louisa's window. And Lady Louisa herself? She lay motionless with fixed eyes, while the nurse, her daughter-in-law, read a novel near the open window. She knew what had happened. She remembered everything. Her hearing and sight were as clear as ever. But she could make no sign of understanding or recognition. A low, guttural sound she could sometimes make, but not always, and the effort was so enormous that she could hardly induce herself to make it. At first she had talked unceasingly, unable to remember that the words which were so clear to herself had no sound for those bending over her, trying to understand what she wished. Janey and the doctor had encouraged her, had comforted her, had made countless experiments in order to establish means of communication with her, but without avail. "Would you like me to read, mother? See, I am holding your hand. Press it ever so little, and I shall know you would like a little reading." No faintest pressure. "Don't trouble to answer, mother, but if you would like to see Roger for a few minutes, shut your eyes." The eyes remained open, fixed. Lady Louisa tried to shut them, but she could not. "Now I am going to hold up these large letters one after another. If there is something you wish me to do, spell it to me. Make a sound when I reach the right letter. I begin with A. Now we come to B. Here is C." But after many fruitless attempts Janey gave up the letters. Her mother groaned at intervals, but when the letters were written down they did not make sense. No bridge could span the gulf. At last the doctor advised Janey to give up trying to span it. "Leave her in peace," he said in Lady Louisa's hearing, that acute hearing which was as intact as her eyesight. So Lady Louisa was left in peace. She saw the reins and whip which she had held so tightly slip out of her hands. She who had imposed her will on others all her life could impose it no longer. She was tended by a traitor whom she hated, yet she was unable to denounce her, to rid herself of her daily, hourly presence. A wood pigeon cooed tranquilly in the cedar, and Lady Louisa groaned. The nurse put down her book, and came and stood beside the bed. The two enemies looked at each other, the younger woman boldly meeting the impotent hatred of her patient's eyes.