Outside on the street there was commotion. Judith was aroused from her
torpor of pain by Lavinia Trench’s voice, strident and hysterical:
“Carry him into the west room. You can’t take him upstairs on that
stretcher. What has happened to him? Why didn’t you telephone me?
David, are you alive?”
David had fallen from the roof of the Marksley house. No one knew what
had caused the accident. He was standing on a wide ledge, that ought to
have been secure. One of the workmen saw him stagger, reel backward and
come crashing down. It was fortunate that he did not strike the stone
pavement. That would have been fatal. He was apparently only stunned by
the fall.
Judith followed the curious crowd into the house and bent above the
stricken man, while his wife ran panting up the stairs to prepare his
bed. He opened his eyes and his lips fashioned inarticulate words.
“The paper,” she saw rather than heard, “the paper ... burn it. I
saw--in a flash--that blinded me--and I fell....”