A warning something behind her sent Billy scurrying into the house just in time to prevent the heavy door's closing and shutting her out, keyless, in the cold.
Half-past eleven came, and again Billy ran to the door.

This time she put the floor-mat against the casing so that the door could not close.
Once more she peered wildly up and down the street, and across into the deserted, wind-swept Garden.
There was only terror now in Billy's face.

The anger was all gone.

In Billy's mind there was not a shadow of doubt--something had happened to Bertram.
Bertram was ill--hurt--dead! And he was so good, so kind, so noble; such a dear, dear husband! If only she could see him once.

If only she could ask his forgiveness for those wicked, unkind, accusing thoughts.