Without further words Sommers went upstairs. The outer door was unbarred, and the door into the room open. Preston was lying, clean and quiet, in a clean bed with a fresh counterpane. His face was turned to one side, as if he were sleeping. His eyes were suspiciously reddened under the lids, and his cheeks had rather more bloat than the doctor remembered. He was dead, sure enough, at peace at last, and the special cause for the ending was of little importance. Sommers proceeded to make an examination, however; he would have to sign a certificate for the health officers. As he bent over the inert form, he had a feeling of commiseration rather than of relief. Worthless clay that the man was, it seemed petty now to have been so disturbed over his living on, for such satisfactions as his poor fragment of life gave him. Like the insignificant insect which preyed on its own petty world, he had, maybe, his rights to his prey. At all events, now that he had ceased to trouble, it was foolish to have any feeling of disgust, of reproach, of hatred. God and life had made him so, as God and life had made the mighty.... Suddenly the doctor's eye detected something that arrested his attention, and he proceeded to look at the dead man more carefully. Then he started back and called out to the woman below. When she came panting up the stairs, he asked sternly: "Was he given anything?" "What?" she asked, retreating from the room. "Any medicine?" the doctor pursued, eying her sharply. "He was took bad last night, and Mrs. Preston went to see what was the matter. She might have given him somethin' to rest him. I dunno." The doctor went back to the dead man and examined him again; the woman crawled away. Again Sommers abandoned his task, nervously twitching the bedclothes over the cold form. He went to the window and opened it, and stood breathing the night air. There was another step upon the stair, and Sommers turned. It was Mrs. Preston. She started on seeing the doctor, and he noticed how pale her face appeared, even in the darkening room. He was also conscious of the start she had given. "I have looked for you so long!" she exclaimed eagerly, hastening toward him, and then stopping in embarrassment. "I was detained, hindered in every possible way," the doctor replied. His tone was chilling, preoccupied. "He was ill last night, but I thought nothing of it. When I returned from an errand this noon, he had fallen into a kind of stupor--last night he was so excited--and I was alarmed. I had Mrs. Ducharme telephone for you then. He did not come out of his stupor," she added in a low tone. Sommers stepped back to the bedside. "Did you--" he began involuntarily, but he left his sentence unfinished, and turned away again. "I have completed my examination," he said at last. "Let us go downstairs."