I begged Miss Ambient to go up and try to have speech of her sister-in-law, and I drew Mark out into the garden. “You’re exceedingly nervous, and Mrs. Ambient’s probably right,” I there undertook to plead. “Women know; women should be supreme in such a situation. Trust a mother—a devoted mother, my dear friend!” With such words as these I tried to soothe and comfort him, and, marvellous to relate, I succeeded, with the help of many cigarettes, in making him walk about the garden and talk, or suffer me at least to do so, for near an hour. When about that time had elapsed his sister reappeared, reaching us rapidly and with a convulsed face while she held her hand to her heart. “Go for the Doctor, Mark—go for the Doctor this moment!” “Is he dying? Has she killed him?” my poor friend cried, flinging away his cigarette. “I don’t know what she has done! But she’s frightened, and now she wants the Doctor.” “He told me he’d be hanged if he came back!” I felt myself obliged to mention. “Precisely—therefore Mark himself must go for him, and not a messenger. You must see him and tell him it’s to save your child. The trap has been ordered—it’s ready.” “To save him? I’ll save him, please God!” Ambient cried, bounding with his great strides across the lawn. As soon as he had gone I felt I ought to have volunteered in his place, and I said as much to Miss Ambient; but she checked me by grasping my arm while we heard the wheels of the dog-cart rattle away from the gate. “He’s off—he’s off—and now I can think! To get him away—while I think—while I think!” “While you think of what, Miss Ambient?” “Of the unspeakable thing that has happened under this roof!” Her manner was habitually that of such a prophetess of ill that I at first allowed for some great extravagance. But I looked at her hard, and the next thing felt myself turn white. “Dolcino _is_ dying then—he’s dead?” “It’s too late to save him. His mother has let him die! I tell you that because you’re sympathetic, because you’ve imagination,” Miss Ambient was good enough to add, interrupting my expression of horror. “That’s why you had the idea of making her read Mark’s new book!” “What has that to do with it? I don’t understand you. Your accusation’s monstrous.” “I see it all—I’m not stupid,” she went on, heedless of my emphasis. “It was the book that finished her—it was that decided her!” “Decided her? Do you mean she has murdered her child?” I demanded, trembling at my own words.