dy it was
still alive and quick. The agony of that revelation was scarcely to be
borne. And it seemed that Lise, even in the place where she was, must
have heard that cry and heeded it. And yet--the revelation of Lise's
whereabouts, of Lise's contemplated act Janet had nearly been goaded into
making, died on her lips. She could not tell Hannah! And Lise's child
must not come into a world like this. Even now the conviction remained,
fierce, exultant, final. But if Janet had spoken now Hannah would not
have heard her. Under the storm she had begun to rock, weeping
convulsively.... But gradually her weeping ceased. And to Janet,
helplessly watching, this process of congealment was more terrible even
than the release that only an unmitigated violence of grief had been able
to produce. In silence Hannah resumed her shrunken duties, and when these
were finished sat awhile, before going to bed, her hands lying listless
in her lap. She seemed to have lived for centuries, to have exhausted the
gamut of suffering which, save for that one wild outburst, had been the
fruit of commonplace, passive, sordid tragedy that knows no touch of
fire....

The next morning Janet was awakened by the siren. Never, even in the days
when life had been routine and commonplace, had that sound failed to
arouse in her a certain tremor of fear; with its first penetrating
shriek, terror invaded her: then, by degrees, overcoming her numbness,
came an agonizing realization of tragedy to be faced. The siren blew and
blew insistently, as though it never meant to stop; and now for the first
time she seemed to detect in it a note of futility. There were those who
would dare to defy it. She, for one, would defy it. In that reflection
she found a certain fierce joy. And she might lie in bed if she wished
--how often had she longed to! But she could not. The room was cold,
appallingly empty and silent as she hurried into her clothes. The
dining-room lamp was lighted, the table set, her mother was bending over
the stove when she reached the kitchen. After the pretence of breakfast
was gone through Janet sought relief in housework, making her bed,
tidying her room. It was odd, this morning, how her notice of little,
familiar things had the power to add to her pain, brought to mind
memories become excruciating as she filled the water pitcher from the
kitchen tap she found herself staring at the nick broken out of it when
Lise had upset it. She recalled Lise's chara