'
At eleven o'clock that night a mounted messenger was sent off to
Ambleside in hot haste to fetch Mr. Evans, who came to the inn to find
Lady Maulevrier kneeling beside her husband's bed, while Steadman stood
with a troubled countenance at a respectful distance.
The room was dimly lighted by a pair of candles burning on a table near
the window, and at some distance from the old four-post bedstead,
shaded by dark moreen curtains. The surgeon looked round the room, and
then fumbled in his pockets for his spectacles, without the aid of which
the outside world presented itself to him under a blurred and uncertain
aspect.
He put on his spectacles, and moved towards the bed; but the first
glance in that direction showed him what had happened. The outline of
the rigid figure under the coverlet looked like a sculptured effigy upon
a tomb. A sheet was drawn over the face of death.
'You are too late to be of any use, Mr. Evans,' murmured Steadman,
laying his hand upon the doctor's sleeve and drawing him away towards
the door.
They went softly on to the landing, off which opened the door of that
other sick-room where the landlady's brother was lying.
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