were two women, neighbours; as soon as the men had
departed, and the front door was closed, they stole forward, one
sobbing, the other pale with fear. They entered the sitting-room, and
Mrs. Hood went in with them. She was strangely self-controlled. All
three stood looking at the wrapped form, which was that of a man.

'I shan't dare to look at him!' Mrs. Hood whispered. 'The doctor told me
I wasn't to. Oh, my husband!'

With the sublime love of woman, conquering all dread, she dropped to her
knees and laid her head on the pillow of the couch by the side of that
head so closely shrouded.

'Thank God, Emily can't see this!' she groaned.

'Hadn't I better go up to her?' one of the women asked. Both of them
stood at a distance.

'Yes, perhaps you had. But you'll be wanted at home. Stay with me a
minute, then I'll lock this door and go up myself.'

At the sound of a hand on the door all turned with a movement of
surprise and affright. There entered Emily, hurriedly dressed, her hair
loose upon her shoulders. She looked round the room, with
half-conscious, pitiful gaze, then upon her mother, then at the form on
the couch. She pointed to it.

'He has come?'

Her voice was unearthly. The sound gave her mother strength to run to
her, and throw her arms about her, sobbing, terror-stricken.

She suffered herself to be led upstairs, and did not speak.

CHAPTER XIV

NEWS AND COMMENTS

As a man who took the world as he found it, and on the whole found it
well worth accepting on such terms, Mr. Athel was not likely to allow
his annoyance with Wilfrid to threaten the habitual excellence of his
digestion. His disappointment was real enough. When of a sudden Wilfrid
had announced that he could not accompany the family party to
Switzerland, Mr. Athel was saved from undignified irresolution by a
hearty outburst of temper, which saw him well over the Straits before it
gave way to the natural reaction, under the influence of which he called
himself a blockhead. He had, beyond a doubt, precipitated the marriage,
when postponement was the only thing he really cared about. To abuse
himself was one thing, the privilege which an Englishman is ready enough
to exercise; to have his thoughts uttered to him by his sister with
feminine neatness and candour was quite another matter. Mrs. Rossall had
in vain attempted to stem the flood of wrath rushing Channelwards.
Overcome, she clad herself in meaning silence, until her brother