It did not disturb her very seriously at first; she
even subconsciously made an effort to ignore it. But at length a
sudden stab of understanding pierced her sleep-laden senses, and in a
moment she started up broad awake. Some one was in the room with her.
Through the dumb stillness before the dawn there came the sound of
bitter weeping.
For a few seconds she sat motionless, startled, bewildered, half
afraid. The room was in nearly total darkness. Only in dimmest
outline could she discern the long French window that opened upon the
verandah.
The weeping continued. It was half smothered, but it sounded agonised.
A great wave of compassion swept suddenly over Muriel. All in a moment
she understood.
Swiftly she leaned forward into the darkness, feeling outwards till
her groping hands touched a figure that crouched beside the bed.
"Daisy! Daisy, my darling!" she said, and there was anguish in her own
voice. "What is it?"
In a second the sobbing ceased as if some magic had silenced it.
Two hands reached up out of the darkness and tightly clasped hers. A
broken voice whispered her name.
"What is it?" Muriel repeated in growing distress.
"Hush, dear, hush!" the trembling voice implored. "Don't let Will
hear! It worries him so."
"But, my darling,--" Muriel protested.
Pages:
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391