"Courage," she murmured, "courage. This life has told on me more than I
thought. With Chris's example before me I must not break down now."




CHAPTER XX

FRANK LITTIMER


The lamps gleamed upon the dusty statuary and pictures and faded flowers
in the hall, they glinted upon a long polished oak casket there reposing
upon trestles. Ever and anon a servant would peep in and vanish again as
if ashamed of something. The house was deadly quiet now, for Mrs. Henson
had fallen asleep worn out with exhaustion, and Enid had instantly
stopped the dreadful clamour of the bell. The silence that followed was
almost as painful as the noise had been.

On the coffin were wreaths of flowers. Enid sat in the drawing-room with
the door open, where she could see everything, but was herself unseen.
She was getting terribly anxious and nervous again; the hour was near
eleven, and the hearse might arrive at any time. She would know no kind
of peace until she could get that hideous mockery out of the house.

She sat listening thus, straining her ears to catch the slightest sound.
Suddenly there came a loud clamour at the front door, an imperative
knocking that caused Enid's heart to come into her mouth. Who could it
be? What stranger had passed the dogs in that way?