She feared for her nerves, and hated to go down into the dark parts of the house as if some danger lurked there.

She longed for morning, for the light; and thought of Claude and his fate, and wondered why the thought of his danger did not move her to weeping, as it had moved her a few hours earlier.
In truth she was worn out.

The effort to revive her mother had cost her the last remains of strength.

Her feet as she descended the stairs were of lead, the brazen notes of the alarm-bell hummed in her ears.

When she reached the living-room she set the lamp on one of the tables and sat down wearily, with her eyes on the cold, empty hearth and on the settle where she had sat with his arms about her.