love--my love--oh, my love!" he whispered again and again. "My
love--oh, my love!"

Then he heard the nurse behind him, crying, saying:

"She's better, Mr. Morel, she's better."

When he took his face up from his warm, dead mother he went straight
downstairs and began blacking his boots.

There was a good deal to do, letters to write, and so on. The doctor
came and glanced at her, and sighed.

"Ay--poor thing!" he said, then turned away. "Well, call at the surgery
about six for the certificate."

The father came home from work at about four o'clock. He dragged
silently into the house and sat down. Minnie bustled to give him his
dinner. Tired, he laid his black arms on the table. There were swede
turnips for his dinner, which he liked. Paul wondered if he knew. It was
some time, and nobody had spoken. At last the son said:

"You noticed the blinds were down?"

Morel looked up.

"No," he said. "Why--has she gone?"

"Yes."

"When wor that?"

"About twelve this morning."

"H'm!"

The miner sat still for a moment, then began his dinner. It was as
if nothing had happened. He ate his turnips in silence. Afterwards he
washed and went upstairs to dress. The door of her room was shut.

"Have you seen her?" Annie asked of him when he came down.

"No," he said.

In a little while he went out. Annie went away, and Paul called on the
undertaker, the clergyman, the doctor, the registrar. It was a long
business. He got back at nearly eight o'clock. The undertaker was coming
soon to measure for the coffin. The house was empty except for her. He
took a candle and went upstairs.

The room was cold, that had been warm for so long. Flowers, bottles,
plates, all sick-room litter was taken away; everything was harsh and
austere. She lay raised on the bed, the sweep of the sheet from the
raised feet was like a clean curve of snow, so silent. She lay like a
maiden asleep. With his candle in his hand, he bent over her. She lay
like a girl asleep and dreaming of her love. The mouth was a little open
as if wondering from the suffering, but her face was young, her brow
clear and white as if life had never touched it. He looked again at the
eyebrows, at the small, winsome nose a bit on one side. She was young
again. Only the hair as it arched so beautifully from her temples was
mixed with silver, and the two simple plaits that lay on her shoulders
were filigree of silver and brown. She would wake up. She would lift her
eyel