During an interval
between storms of tears the woman put on a black gown, then went to her
work. The day had now advanced. On seeing her again downstairs, two or
three friends, including the Pritchards, entered the house and asked
anxiously after Michael, without, however, stating the nature of their
fears. She answered querulously that the man was asleep and showed no more
sorrow than a brute beast. She was very red-eyed and bedraggled. Every
utterance was an excuse for a fresh outburst of weeping, her breast heaved,
her hands moved spasmodically, her nerves were at extreme tension and she
could not stay long in one place. Seeing that she was nearly lightheaded
with much grief, and hoping that her husband's disorder would vanish after
his slumber was ended, her friends forbore to hint at what had happened to
him. They comforted her to the best of their power; then, knowing that long
hours of bitter sorrow must surely pass over the mother's head before such
grief could grow less, departed one by one, leaving her at last alone. She
moved restlessly about from room to room, carrying in one hand a photograph
of Tom, in the other a handkerchief. Now and then she sat down, looked at
the picture and wept anew. She tried to eat some supper presently but could
not. It is seldom a sudden loss strikes home so speedily as had her
tribulation sunk into Thomasin Tregenza's soul. She drank some brandy and
water which a friend had poured out for her and left standing on the
mantel--shelf.
Pages:
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398