can't they say a blow?"

He could not bear the bitterness of her distress. "Don't, don't, my
dear," he said, and startled her into quiet.

* * * * *

The doctor came and went, promising to return, and a nurse with large
crowded teeth assumed control over the sick-room. There was little to be
done; she sat on a chair by the window and, because of those excessive
teeth, she seemed to smile continually at Mildred Caniper's mockery of
death.

Outside, a cold rain was falling: it splashed on the laurel leaves by
the gate and threw a shifting curtain across the moor. The fire in the
room made small noises, as though it tried to talk; the nurse bent over
her patient now and then, but Mildred Caniper did not move.

Downstairs, in the kitchen, Miriam sat on her feet in the big armchair:
she was almost motionless, like one who has been startled into a posture
and dare not move lest her fear should take shape. The rain darkened
the room and filled it with a sound of hissing; a kettle whistled on the
fire, and there was a smell of airing linen.

Helen turned a sheet. "The nurse must have Christopher's bed," she said
at last. "We must carry it in."

"Who?"

"You and I."

"I can't! I can't go in. I should--I should be sick! I can't. Helen,
after last night--"

"Very well. Can you manage to go to Brent Farm and tell John? They ought
to be at home now."

"But there's George."

"He won't hurt you."

"He'd speak to me if he saw me."

"No. He took no notice of you this morning."

"That was because I wasn't dressed."

Helen laughed rather weakly and for a long time.

"You're not really laughing!" Miriam cried. "This house is horrible. You
making that noise, and Notya upstairs, and that hideous nurse grinning,
and George prowling about outside. I can't stay here."

"Go to Brent Farm, then. You can tell John and stay there. Lily won't
mind."

"Shall I? John would be angry."

Helen made no reply as she moved quietly and efficiently about the
kitchen, preparing food, setting things on a tray, turning the linen,
working quickly but with no sign of haste. The rain splattered on the
gravel path outside and clicked sharply into some vessel which stood by
the scullery door.

A voice came unhappily from the pale face blotted against the chair.

"Helen, what are you going to do about me?"

She turned in astonishment and stared at Miriam.

"You said we were to talk about it."

"I know.