She felt Beaumaroy's hand on her shoulder. "You must make sure," he said,
in a low voice. "You must make your examination."
With trembling hands she did it--she forced herself to it, Beaumaroy
aiding her. There was no doubt. Life had left the body which reason had
left long before. His weakened heart had not endured the last strain of
mad excitement. The old man was dead.
Her face showed Beaumaroy the result of her examination, if he had ever
doubted of it. She looked at him, then made a motion of her hand towards
the body. "We must--we must--" she stammered, the tears still rolling
down her cheeks.
"Presently," he said. "There's plenty of time. You're not fit to do that
now--and no more am I, to tell the truth. We'll rest for half an hour,
and then get him upstairs, and--and do the rest. Come with me!" He put
his hand lightly within her arm. "He will rest quietly on his throne for
a little while. He's not afraid any more. He's at rest."
Still with his arm in Mary's, he bent forward and kissed the old man on
the forehead. "I shall miss you, old friend," he said.
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