Nobody, I am afraid, who knew you, would ever take
this for a post-mortem portrait of Lord Harry. Well, we shall see.
Perhaps by-and-by--to-morrow--we may be able to take a better
photograph. Eh?" Lord Harry followed his movements, watching him
closely, but said nothing. His face remained pale and his fingers still
trembled. There was now no doubt at all in his mind, not only as to
Vimpany's intentions, but as to the crime itself. He dared not speak or
move.
A ring at the door pealed through the house. Lord Harry started in his
chair with a cry of terror.
"That," said the doctor, quietly, "is the nurse--the new nurse---the
stranger." He took off the handkerchief from Oxbye's face, looked about
the room as if careful that everything should be in its right place,
and went out to admit the woman. Lord Harry sprang to his feet and
passed his hand over the sick man's face.
"Is it done?" he whispered. "Can the man be poisoned? Is he already
dead?--already? Before my eyes?"
He laid his finger on the sick man's pulse. But the doctor's step and
voice stopped him. Then the nurse came in, following Vimpany. She was
an elderly, quiet-looking French woman.
Lord Harry remained standing at the side of the sofa, hoping to see the
man revive.
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