George Allan England

“ Forrester stared with wide eyes of terror, the doctor remained motionless. He stood there looking down at the housekeeper, who was breathing stertorously, lying with half closed eyes—an object almost as ghastly as the crumpled heap beside the fireplace.
Then, as sometimes happens in moments of supreme stress and tragedy, the very horror of it snapped the thread. Dr. Mayhew laughed with macabre reaction.
“I seem to have two objects of professional solicitude here,” he uttered dryly, “instead of one; and the living always take precedence of the dead.” ”

“ Forrester pointed.
“Hello, what's this?” cried the doctor, seeing her hand. “Blood?”
She only gestured toward the big chair.
“It's blood, doctor!” the housekeeper shrilled. “It's his! When I come in, I found her with the knife in her hand, and—”
But Mayhew was not listening. He had run forward, and was already at his old friend's side.
“Elijah!” he cried in a choked voice, down beside him on the rug. For a moment Mayhew was no longer an eminent physician—only a man. He reverted to the name of boyhood days together: “Lije! Speak to me, Lije, old man!” ”

“ Swiftly he knew the truth. Self-mastery returned. Kneeling there, he faced the women.
“Who did this?” His voice was terrible. “Who?”
“She did!” vociferated the housekeeper. “Let her deny it if she can. I heard a noise an' come right in that door—an' there she was, with the knife in her hand! ”