Forgive me if
you can, for being alive."

The strained, ghastly face twitched and she stopped swaying and looked
at him uncomprehendingly as he knelt before her.

"They say he's dead, he's dead. My boy Dick," she moaned.

Christopher put his arm round her. "God help mothers," he gasped,
under his breath, as the poor, shaking woman dropped her head on his
shoulder with an outbreak of fierce weeping.

CHAPTER XXXV

The Roadmaker lay at the edge of the cliff and looked out on a green
sea flecked with white, whose restless soul, holding to some eternal
purpose, forever attains and relinquishes in peace and storm, in
laughter or tears.

A week had passed since the attempt on Christopher's life for which
Ann Barty had paid so high a price. Happily for Christopher, it had
been a week so full of affairs that although they were mostly in
connection with the one thing, yet they claimed his outward active
attention to the exclusion of the inner point of view. The unhappy man
from Birmingham was found, when he recovered from the seizure, to be
in a semi-imbecile state with no knowledge of his deed and was
accordingly handed over to the authorities proper to his condition. He
was easily traced to the works from which he had been harshly enough
discharged, as it turned out on investigation, and Christopher came
into active opposition with the directors of the Steel Axle Company
over the question of providing for his wife and children. It had been
impossible to keep the affair quiet and there had been innumerable
reporters to circumvent, and more innumerable friends from far and
near, eager to express their interest in his providential escape.
Little Dick Barty received more honour in death than in life and the
bereaved mother drew more consolation from the impressive funeral than
poor Christopher.

Mr. Saunderson bustled down in well-meant concern for Christopher's
well-being, and received certain emphatic instructions, which he took
with shrewd docility, and a wink of his eye to the world.

All the while, as he went through the day's particular and general
business, the wild words in the rasping, incoherent voice haunted
Christopher so persistently that he heard them through the
enthusiastic platitudes of congratulations, the calm official
statements of plain facts, behind even Patricia's healing voice of
love. It was not till the following Sunday he awoke to find a
stillness instead of clamour, calm instead of tu