He heard footsteps, quick stumbling footsteps, and a sound like a hoa.r.s.e, half-suffocating breath behind him. Then a woman"s voice, that sank, stumbling, like the footsteps, as it spoke.
"Mr. Lucy," it said, "is it you?"
Marston went on.
Lucy was in the room with his sister. He was sitting with his back to the open window as Marston came in by it.
The voice outside was nearer; it whispered, "Where is Mr. Lucy?"
"Somebody"s looking for you, Lucy," said Marston.
And the three turned round.
Mrs. Hankin stood in the window, holding on to the frame of it and trembling. Her face, her perfect face, was gray, like the face of an old woman. It was drawn and disfigured with some terrible emotion.
Lucy went to her. She clung to his arm, and held him on the threshold.
"Mrs. Tailleur," she said, "Mrs. Tailleur. We found her--down there.
She"s killed. She--she fell from the Cliff."
The three stood still as she spoke to them.
Then Jane rushed forward to her brother with a cry, and Mrs. Hankin stretched out her arms and barred the way.
There were small spots of blood on her hands and on her dress where she had knelt.
"Go back, child," she said. "They"re carrying her in."
[Ill.u.s.tration]