All she could do was to shrink within herself, and try to make everything pass out of her thoughts while she was sinking into the icy chains of idiocy. But now, when she had been giving up completely, and at times gazing out to sea with horrible thoughts assailing her, and suggestions like temptations to seek for oblivion as the only escape from the agony she suffered, the life-raft had reached her hands, and she clung to it with all the tenacity of one mentally drowning fast. There was something soothing in the very sound of her brother's rough voice speaking in a hoarse whisper; and his selfish repinings over the petty discomforts he had suffered came like words of comfort and rest. "It has been so jolly blank and miserable downstairs," he went on as he held her, and involuntarily rocked himself to and fro. "Ike and Eliza have been always gossiping at the back and sneaking out to take dinner or tea or supper with somebody's servants, so as to palaver about what's gone on here." A pause. "There's been scarcely anything to eat. I've been half-starved." "Oh, Morton, my poor boy!" Those were the first words Claire had uttered since the inquest, and they were followed by a fresh burst of sobs. "Oh, come, come. Do leave off," he cried pettishly. "I say it's all very well for the old man to growl at me for fishing, but if I hadn't gone catching dabs and a little conger or two, I should have been starved." She raised her face and kissed him. Some one else was suffering, and her woman's instinct to help was beginning to work. "What do you think I did, Sis? Oh, you don't know. I'd been up to Burnett's to see May, but the beggars had sneaked off and gone to London. Just like Franky Sneerums and wax-doll May. Pretty sort of a sister to keep away when we're in trouble." "Oh, don't, my dear boy," whispered Claire in a choking voice. "Oh, yes, I shall. They're ashamed of me and of all of us. Just as if we could help the old girl being killed here." A horrible spasm ran through Claire. "Don't jump like that, stupid," said Morton roughly. "You didn't kill her." "Hush! hush!" "No, I shan't hush. It'll do you good to talk and hear what people say, my pretty old darling Sis. There, there hush-a-bye, baby. Cuddle up close, and let's comfort you. What's the matter now?" Claire had struggled up, with her hands upon his shoulders, and was gazing wildly into his eyes. "What--what do people say?" she panted. "Be still, little goose--no; pretty little white pigeon," he said, more softly, as he tried to draw her towards him. "What--do they say?" she cried, in a hoarse whisper, and she trembled violently. "Why, that it is a jolly good job the old woman is dead, for she was no use to anyone." Claire groaned as she yielded once more to his embrace. "Fisherman Dick says--I say, he is a close old nut there's no getting anything out of him!--says he don't see that people like Lady Teigne are any use in the world." "Morton!"