clear voice. She herself, I noticed, was dressed in her white
land smock. Then it must be later than I thought. I saw that a
faint streak of daylight was showing through the curtains of the
windows, and that the clock on the mantelpiece pointed to close
upon five o'clock.

A strangled cry from the bed startled me. A fresh access of pain
seized the unfortunate old lady. The convulsions were of a
violence terrible to behold. Everything was confusion. We
thronged round her, powerless to help or alleviate. A final
convulsion lifted her from the bed, until she appeared to rest
upon her head and her heels, with her body arched in an
extraordinary manner. In vain Mary and John tried to administer
more brandy. The moments flew. Again the body arched itself in
that peculiar fashion.

At that moment, Dr. Bauerstein pushed his way authoritatively
into the room. For one instant he stopped dead, staring at the
figure on the bed, and, at the same instant, Mrs. Inglethorp
cried out in a strangled voice, her eyes fixed on the doctor:

"Alfred--Alfred----" Then she fell back motionless on the
pillows.

With a stride, the doctor reached the bed, and seizing her arms
worked them energetically, applying what I knew to be artificial
respiration. He issued a few short sharp orders to the servants.
An imperious wave of his hand drove us all to the door. We
watched him, fascinated, though I think we all knew in our hearts
that it was too late, and that nothing could be done now. I