what had happened.

Lights were on in the hall; she met the night-nurse coming softly out
of Sir Charles's bedroom. It was true, the old man had breathed his
last about a quarter of an hour ago.

"Sooner than I expected even. I gave him another twenty-four hours.
No need to wake anyone, let them sleep, I say. But as you're already
up, you may care to lend a hand."

Esther nodded and the woman hurried away. A door opened quietly and
Roger appeared, heavy-eyed, flushed, his dark-blue dressing-gown
wrapped around him. She turned to him with eyes of compassion.

"Is it----?" he asked.

"Yes, a little while ago," she told him gently.

He came and stood beside her without speaking. Almost instinctively
his hand closed over hers and held it fast. She felt the dry heat of
his skin, the hard throbbing of a pulse.

A sudden panic seized her; the very name of Typhoid had become a
shapeless dread, a horror creeping unseen, singling out its victims,
playing with them as a cat does with a mouse, letting them go, then
springing... She wanted to cry out, to warn the man beside her of
approaching danger.

Warn him? Of what? What was she able to say, what dared she say? She
took a firmer grip on herself. She must remember there was about one
chance in a hundred of there being anything in her mad idea; she must
say nothing till she knew for certain. There could be no immediate
peril, unless, of course.... The needle again! Those injections, of
anti-toxin they kept talking about ... if only she knew, could be sure!
Fresh terror assailed her, she felt herself caught in a trap....

What was this Roger was saying?

"Esther, I wasn't joking when I said I couldn't bear to have things
jabbed into me. I'm not bothered a hang about myself, but I can't have
poor Dido worried unnecessarily, at this time and all. Tell me--since
she keeps on about that anti-toxin stuff--would you have it, or
wouldn't you?"

Why did he ask her that? Her tongue felt dry, she hesitated a long
moment before replying.

"I wouldn't be forced into anything," she said as naturally as she
could. "As you've already got the symptoms considerably developed, it
wouldn't be absolutely infallible, anyhow."

"That settles it. I won't have it at all."

She felt she ought to say something more, but was not sure how to set
about it.

"Still, Roger, you are ill, you know, and you certainly ought to be in
bed. There's no good that can come of walki