The Salt Of The Earth by Fred M. White

For the first time in her life Adela stood face to face with death. Everything had hitherto been made smooth for her, so that the sudden tragedy came upon her with a peculiar and unexpected horror. She did not need anyone to tell her that this was the end of poor Samuel Burton. She saw it in the ashen pallor of his face, in the twitching lips, and the thin red streak trickling down the old man's shirt front.

With it all she was cool and collected, and she had the curious sensation of having expected the catastrophe. The contrast between this dying man and his luxurious surroundings was appalling. His race was run, and not all the wealth of Croesus could save him or prolong even by a few short hours that wasted life. It did not need the authority of a doctor to pronounce that nothing could be done, though this evidence was speedily forthcoming. Most of the guests had vanished by the time that Burton was carried upstairs, and laid upon a bed. He was still breathing faintly, but no hope was held out that he would ever regain consciousness. "It will be over in a few minutes," Adela heard the doctor say to the Duchess of Southampton, and a blinding rush of tears filled her eyes as she heard the verdict.