How often, in her wakeful nights at Rydal, had she lived over again every moment in the walk to Blea Tarn, till at last, gathered once more on George's knees, and nestling to his breast, she had fallen asleep--comforted.
She went through it all, once more, in this strange room, as the darkness closed; only the vision ended now, not in a tender thrill--half conscious, fading into sleep--of remembered joy, but in an anguish of sobbing, the misery of the frail tormented creature, unable to bear its life.
Nevertheless sleep came.

For nights she had scarcely slept, and in the silence immediately round her the distant sounds gradually lost their dreary note, and became a rhythmical and soothing influence.

She fell into a deep unconsciousness.
* * * * * An hour later, a tall man rang at the outer door of the flat.

Mrs.
Simpson obeyed the summons, and found Sir William Farrell on the threshold.
'Well, have they come ?' 'Oh, yes, sir.' And Mrs.Simpson gave a rapid, _sotto voce_ account of the visitors' arrival, their lunch, Mrs.Sarratt's sad looks--'poor little lady!'-- and much else.
Sir William stepped in.
'Are they at home ?' Mrs.Simpson shook her head.
'They went out after lunch, Sir William, and I have not heard them come in.' Which, of course, was a mistake on the part of Mrs.Simpson, who, hearing the front door close half an hour after luncheon and no subsequent movement in the flat, had supposed that the sisters had gone out together.
'All right.

I'll wait for them.