not seemed so
unconscious of and indifferent to the child who was with her and clung
to her black dress as if it could not bear to let her go. This one was
alive at least, even if she had lost the other one, and its little face
was so wistful! It did not seem fair to forget and ignore it, as if
it were not there. I felt as if she might have left it behind on the
platform if it had not so clung to her skirt that it was almost dragged
into the railway carriage with her. When she sank into her seat she did
not even lift the poor little thing into the place beside her, but left
it to scramble up as best it could. She buried her swollen face in her
handkerchief and sobbed in a smothered way as if she neither saw, heard,
nor felt any living thing near her.

How I wished she would remember the poor child and let it comfort her!
It really was trying to do it in its innocent way. It pressed close to
her side, it looked up imploringly, it kissed her arm and her crape
veil over and over again, and tried to attract her attention. It was
a little, lily-fair creature not more than five or six years old and
perhaps too young to express what it wanted to say. It could only cling
to her and kiss her black dress, and seem to beg her to remember that
it, at least, was a living thing. But she was too absorbed in her
anguish to know that it was in the world. She neither looked at nor
touched it, and at last it sat with its cheek against her sleeve, softly
stroking her arm, and now and then kissing it longingly. I was obliged
to turn my face away and look out of the window, because I knew the man
with the kind face saw the tears well up into my eyes.

The poor woman did not travel far with us. She left the train after a
few stations were passed. Our fellow-traveler got out before her to help
her on to the platform. He stood with bared head while he assisted her,
but she scarcely saw him. And even then she seemed to forget the child.
The poor thing was dragged out by her dress as it had been dragged in. I
put out my hand involuntarily as it went through the door, because I was
afraid it might fall. But it did not. It turned its fair little face
and smiled at me. When the kind traveler returned to his place in the
carriage again, and the train left the station, the black-draped woman
was walking slowly down the platform and the child was still clinging to
her skirt.

CHAPTER IV

My guardian was a man whose custom it was to give large a