Lucia is so weak that she has to cling to the banister a moment; and then, with a strong shudder, the spirit conquers the flesh, and she hurries up before them both.
It is a small low room--Valencia had expected that: but she had expected, too, confusion and wretchedness: for a note from Major Campbell, ere he started, had told her of the condition in which Elsley had been found.

Instead, she finds neatness--even gaiety; fresh damask linen, comfortable furniture, a vase of hothouse flowers, while the air was full of cool perfumes.

No one is likely to tell her that Mary has furnished all at Tom's hint--"We must smarten up the place, for the poor wife's sake.

It will take something off the shock; and I want to avoid shocks for her." So Tom had worked with his own hands that morning; arranging the room as carefully as any woman, with that true doctor's forethought and consideration, which often issues in the loftiest, because the most unconscious, benevolence.
He paused at the door-- "Will you go in ?" whispered he to Valencia, in a tone which meant--"you had better not." "Not yet--I daresay he is too weak." Lucia darted in, and Tom shut the door behind her, and waited at the stair-head.

"Better," thought he, "to let the two poor creatures settle their own concerns.