So that when the door closed on the last of the callers, Rachel, who a month earlier had never even seen Mrs. Maldon, was left in sole rightful charge of the dying-bed.  And there was no escape for her.  She could not telegraph—­the day being Sunday.  Moreover, except Thomas Batchgrew, there was nobody to whom she might telegraph.  And she did not want Mr. Batchgrew.  Though Mr. Batchgrew certainly had not guessed the relapse, she felt no desire whatever to let him have news.  She hated his blundering intrusions; and in spite of the doctor’s statements she would insist to herself that he and Louis between them had somehow brought about the change in Mrs. Maldon.  Of course she might fetch Louis.  She did not know his exact address, but he could be discovered.  At any rate, Mrs. Tams might be sent for him.  But she could not bring herself to make any advance towards Louis.

At a little after six o’clock, when the rare chapel-goers had ceased to pass, and the still rarer church-goers were beginning to respond to distant bells, Mrs. Tams informed her that tea was ready for her in the parlour, and she descended and took tea, utterly alone.  Mrs. Tams had lighted the fire, and had moved the table comfortably towards the fire—­act of astounding initiative and courage, in itself a dramatic proof that Mrs. Maldon no longer reigned at Bycars.  Tea finished, Rachel returned to the sick-room, where there was nothing whatever to do except watch the minutes recede.  She thought of her father and brother in America.

Then Mrs. Tams, who had been clearing away the tea-things, came into the bedroom and said—­

“Here’s Mr. Fores, miss.”

Rachel started.

“Mr. Fores!  What does he want?” she asked querulously.

Mrs. Tams preserved her blandness.

“He asked for you, miss.”

“Didn’t he ask how Mrs. Maldon is?”

“No, miss.”

“Well, I don’t want to see him.  You might run down and tell him what the doctor said, Mrs. Tams.”  She tried to make her voice casually persuasive.

“Shall I, miss?” said Miss Tams doubtfully, and turned to the door.

Rachel was again full of fear and resentment.  Louis had committed the infamy of luring her into the cinematograph.  It was through him that she had “got herself talked about.”  Mrs. Maldon’s last words had been a warning against him.  He and Mr. Batchgrew had desecrated the sick-room with their mysterious visitations.  And now Louis was come again.  From what catastrophes had not Mrs. Maldon’s warning saved her!

“Here!  I’ll go,” said Rachel, in a sudden resolve.

“I’m glad on it,” said Mrs. Tams simply.

In the parlour Louis stood in front of the fire.  Although the blinds were drawn, the gas had not been lighted; but the fire and the powerful street lamp together sufficed to give clearness to every object in the room.  The table had been restored to its proper situation.  The gift of grapes ornamented the sideboard.