Had he not been a servant--but he was, and an old and foolishly fussy one.

I would not imagine follies, only I wished I could follow him into Mrs.Packard's presence.
His stay, however, was too short for much to have been gained thereby.
Almost immediately he reappeared, shaking his head and looking very much disturbed, and I was watching his pottering descent when he was startled, and I was startled, by two cries which rang out simultaneously from above, one of pain and distress from the room he had just left, and one expressive of the utmost glee from the lips of the baby whom the nursemaid was bringing down from the upper hall.
Appalled by the anguish expressed in the mother's cry, I was bounding up-stairs when my course was stopped by one of the most poignant sights it has ever been my lot to witness.

Mrs.Packard had heard her child's laugh, and flying from her room had met the little one on the threshold of her door and now, crying and sobbing, was kneeling with the child in her arms in the open space at the top of the stairs.

Her paroxysm of grief, wild and unconstrained as it was, gave less hint of madness than of intolerable suffering.
Wondering at an abandonment which bespoke a grief too great for all further concealment, I glanced again at Nixon.

He had paused in the middle of the staircase and was looking back in a dubious way denoting hesitation.