But, though the small white face was always a touching sight, it was no whiter than usual and her breathing though low and very soft was regular.
"But where the strength's to come from the good God alone knows!" was Dowie's inward sigh.
The clock had just struck one when she leaned forward again.

What she saw would not have disturbed her if she had not been overstrung by long anxiety.

But now--after the woeful day--in the middle of the night with the echo of the clock's solitary sound still in the solitary room--in the utter stillness of moor and castle emptiness she was startled almost to fright.

Something had happened to the pitiful face.

A change had come over it--not a change which had stolen gradually but a change which was actually sudden.