“It was most sudden, madam,” answered he. “I had the best grounds for hope. I was being persuaded we should save him. And then, quite suddenly, without an instant's warning, he succumbed. He just heaved a sigh, and was gone. I could scarcely believe my senses, madam.” He would have added more particulars of his feelings and emotions--for he was of those who believe that their own impressions of a phenomenon are that phenomenon's most interesting manifestations--but her ladyship waved him peremptorily into silence. He drew back, washing his hands in the air, an expression of polite concern upon his face. “Is there aught else I can do to be of service to your ladyship?” he inquired, solicitous. “What else?” she asked, with a fuller return to her old self. “Ye've killed him. What more is there you can do?” “Oh, madam--nay, madam! I am most deeply grieved that my--my--” “His lordship will wait upon you to the door,” said she, designating her son. The eminent physician effaced himself from her ladyship's attention. It was his boast that he could take a hint when one was given him; and so he could, provided it were broad enough, as in the present instance. He gathered up his hat and gold-headed cane--the unfailing insignia of his order--and was gone, swiftly and silently. Rotherby closed the door after him, and returned slowly, head bowed, to the window where his mother was still seated. They looked at each other gravely for a long moment. “This makes matters easier for you,” she said at length. “Much easier. It does not matter now how far his complicity may be betrayed by his papers. I am glad, madam, to see you so far recovered from your weakness.” She shivered, as much perhaps at his tone as at the recollections he evoked. “You are very indifferent, Charles,” said she. He looked at her steadily, then slightly shrugged. “What need to wear a mask? Bah! Did he ever give me cause to feel for him?” he asked. “Mother, if one day I have a son of my own, I shall see to it that he loves me.” “You will be hard put to it, with your nature, Charles,” she told him critically. Then she rose. “Will you go to him with me?” she asked. He made as if to acquiesce, then halted. “No,” he said, and there was repugnance in his tone and face. “Not--not now.” There came a knocking at the door, rapid, insistent. Grateful for the interruption, Rotherby went to open. Mr. Green staggered forward with swollen eyes, his face inflamed with rage, and with something else that was not quite apparent to Rotherby. “My lord!” he cried in a loud, angry voice. Rotherby caught his wrist and checked him. “Sh! sir,” he said gravely. “Not here.” And he pushed him out again, her ladyship following them. It was in the gallery--above the hall, in which the servants still stood idly about--that Mr. Green spattered out his wrathful tale of what had befallen in the library.