Something of her steadiness and love flowed from her through her own warm restraining palms and something in her tender steady voice spoke for and helped her--though it seemed long and long before the cruelty of the storm had lessened and the shadow of a body under the bed-clothes lay deadly still and the heavy eyelids closed as if they would never lift again.
Dowie did not leave her for an hour or more but sat by her bedside and watched.

Like this had been the crying in the night.

And she had been alone.
* * * * * As she sat and watched she thought deeply after her lights.

She did not think only of the sweet shattered thing she so well loved.

She thought much of Lord Coombe.