" I
would raise my eyes to her face mutely, and with a vague gesture of
giving it up she would glide away.
Later in the evening, but not always, I would be permitted to tip-toe
into the sick room to say good-night to the figure prone on the bed,
which often could not acknowledge my presence but by a slow movement of
the eyes, put my lips dutifully to the nerveless hand lying on the
coverlet, and tip-toe out again. Then I would go to bed, in a room at
the end of the corridor, and often, not always, cry myself into a good
sound sleep.
I looked forward to what was coming with an incredulous terror. I turned
my eyes from it sometimes with success, and yet all the time I had an
awful sensation of the inevitable. I had also moments of revolt which
stripped off me some of my simple trust in the government of the
universe. But when the inevitable entered the sick room and the white
door was thrown wide open, I don't think I found a single tear to shed. I
have a suspicion that the Canon's housekeeper looked on me as the most
callous little wretch on earth.
The day of the funeral came in due course and all the generous "Youth of
the Schools," the grave Senate of the University, the delegations of the
Trade-guilds, might have obtained (if they cared) _de visu_ evidence of
the callousness of the little wretch.
Pages:
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245