Monmouth turned.

Mr.Newlington, purple of face and his eyes protruding horridly, was beating the air with his hands.

Suddenly he collapsed, and crashed forward with arms flung out amid the glass and silver of the table all spread with the traitor's banquet to which he had bidden his unsuspecting victim.
His wife and daughter ran to him and called him by name, Monmouth pausing a moment to watch them from the doorway with eyes unmoved.

But Mr.Newlington answered, not their call, for he was dead..