She went blindly along the passages to the library, hearing and flying from the voices of Sir Wilfrid and Arthur in the dining-room as she passed. When Lester returned, he saw her standing by his desk, lost in an abstraction of grief. But she roused herself at sight of him, and asked for any further news there might be. Lester, who had been suffering from a sprained wrist, had that morning seen the same doctor who had been called in on the discovery of the tragedy. "It must all have happened within an hour. His sister, who had come to stay with them, says that John Betts had seemed rather brighter in the evening, and his wife rather less in terror. She spoke very warmly to her sister-in-law of your having come to see her, and said she had promised you to wait a little before she took any step. Then he went out to the laboratory, and there, it is supposed, he was overcome by a fit of acute depression--the revolver was in his drawer--he scrawled the two words that were found--and you know the rest. Two people on the farm heard the shot--but it was taken as fired by the night watcher in a field beyond, which was full of young pheasants. About midnight Mrs. Betts went out to bring him in--her sister-in-law having gone up to bed. She never came back again--no one heard a sound--and they were not discovered till the morning. How long she was alone with him before she killed herself cannot even be guessed." Marcia's trembling fingers fumbled at the bosom of her dress. She drew out a crumpled paper, and pushed it toward him. He read: "Good-by, dear Miss Coryston. He sits so still--not much injured. I have often seen him look so. My John--my John--I can't stay behind. Will you please do something for my boy? John--John--if only we hadn't met again--" It ended incoherently in blots and smudges.