And through it, for the second time, Adeline's long wail of despair rang out loud and shrill. . . .
The rooms upstairs were open. . . . The maids . . . and Marietje in her little nightgown . . . were peeping round the doors, trembling. . . . Gerrit's little room was open . . . and on the floor lay the big body, looking bigger still, stretched out like that . . . and, beside it, beside the big body, on her knees, the wife . . . the small, fair-haired wife. . . . And her wail of despair rang out for the third time.
"Adeline!"
She now looked round, flung up her arms, felt her sister's arms, Constance' arms, around her:
"He's dead! He's dead!"
"No, Adeline . . . perhaps he's fainted."
"He's dead! He's dead! . . . He's cold . . . wet . . . blood . . . feel! . . ."
She uttered a scream of horror, the small, fair-haired wife. And suddenly, drawing herself up, she looked at the sword-rack. . . . Yes, the missing revolver . . . was clutched in his stiff hand.
Van der Welcke and Addie closed the doors. The maids were sobbing outside. But the sound of little voices came; and small fists banged at the closed door:
"Mamma! Mamma! Mamma! . . . Aunt Constance!"
