for the
kiss he never gave me."

"I see. Enough. Go back to your room. I must stay by him till all is
over."

"I can't go back. Ben!"

"What is it?"

"Take me upstairs."

Raising me in his arms, he whispered: "Leave him forever, body and
soul. I am not sorry he is dead." He called Charlotte on the way, and
with her he put me to back to bed. I asked him to let me see the dress
they had taken off.

"That is enough," I said, "Charles broke my arm."

It was torn through the shoulder, and the skirt had been twisted like
a rope. Ben made no reply, but bent over me and kissed me tenderly.
All this time Miss Prior had slept the sleep of the just; but he had
barely gone when she started up and said, "Did you call, my dear?"

"No, it is day."

"So it is; but you must sleep more."

I could not obey, and kept awake so long that Dr. White said he
himself should go crazy unless I slept.

"Presently, presently," I reiterated; "and am I going home?"

At last my mind went astray; it journeyed into a dismal world, and
came back without an account of its adventures. While it was gone,
my friends were summoned to witness a contest, where the odds were
in favor of death. But I recovered. Whether it was youth, a good
constitution, or the skill of Dr. White, no one could decide. It was a
faint, feeble, fluttering return at first. The faces round me, mobile
with life, wearied me. I was indifferent to existence, and was more
than once in danger of lapsing into the void I had escaped.

When I first tottered downstairs, he had been buried more than three
weeks. It was a bright morning; the windows of the parlor, where
Charlotte led me, were open. Little Edward was playing round the table
upon which I had seen his father stretched, dead. I measured it with
my eye, remembering how tall he looked. I would have retreated, when
I saw that Alice had visitors, but it was too late. They rose, and
offered congratulations. I was angry that there was no change in the
house. The rooms should have been dismantled, reflecting disorder and
death, by their perpetual darkness and disorder. It was not so. No
dust had been allowed to gather on the furniture, no wrinkles or
stains. No mist on the mirrors, no dimness anywhere. Alice was
elegantly dressed, in the deepest mourning. I examined her with a
cynical eye; her bombazine was trimmed with crape, and the edge of her
collar was beautifully crimped. A mourning brooch fastened it, and
she wore je