Theobald's
impatience became more and more transparent daily, but fortunately
Christina (who even if she had been well would have been ready to shut
her eyes to it) became weaker and less coherent in mind also, so
that she hardly, if at all, perceived it. After Ernest had been in the
house about a week his mother fell into a comatose state which
lasted a couple of days, and in the end went away so peacefully that
it was like the blending of sea and sky in mid-ocean upon a soft
hazy day when none can say where the earth ends and the heavens begin.
Indeed she died to the realities of life with less pain than she had
waked from many of its illusions.
"She has been the comfort and mainstay of my life for more than
thirty years," said Theobald as soon as all was over, "but one could
not wish it prolonged," and he buried his face in his handkerchief
to conceal his want of emotion.
Ernest came back to town the day after his mother's death, and
returned to the funeral accompanied by myself. He wanted me to see his
father in order to prevent any possible misapprehension about Miss
Pontifex's intentions, and I was such an old friend of the family that
my presence at Christina's funeral would surprise no one.
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