h, which before had grieved as any that is living
might grieve for any that is dead, now knew the sorrow appropriate to
the destruction of Marion's wide, productive body. For what her spirit
learned and admitted it had always known of that burning thing which had
been Marion she looked round the room in reverence, since she had lived
there. The light on the handle of the French window caught her eye, and
she wept. She had been annoyed with Marion because she could not turn
it. But who would not find it difficult to open a door if it was death
on which it opened?

"Richard, I love your mother!" she sobbed. "I love your mother so!"

He muttered something. In case he was speaking to her she bent down and
listened. But he was repeating over and over again in accents of irony:
"Give him up to Ellen. Give him up to Ellen. Oh, mother, mother...."

By the passion for Marion that was wringing her she could measure the
flame that must be devouring him. There was a strong impulse in her to
feel nothing but pity for him; to apprehend with resignation that there
might be a period ahead during which he might feel hatred for her,
loathing her for being alive when his mother, who deserved so well, was
dead. She stepped backward from the desk so that he need not be vexed by
any sense of her. Yet she had a feeling as she moved that she was
taking a step infinitely rash, infinitely dangerous....

She became aware that behind her Roger was shaking words out of his
weeping body. "You ought to be on your knees, you two! You've killed my
mummie with your wickedness!"

"What's that?" she murmured, turning on him. "What's that?" She was not
quite attentive. A picture was forming in her consciousness which, when
it was clear, would tell her why it was perilous to leave Richard to his
grief....

"Aw, shut up!" hissed Poppy, and tugged at his arm.

But he faced Ellen bravely and cried: "Yes, you've killed my mummie! She
saw there was something wrong going on between you two. She found out
what you'd been doing up there in the bedroom when Poppy and me caught
you. It must have been an awful shock to her. It was to me," he said
pathetically and with relish. "I could hardly believe it myself till
Poppy said, 'Well, what would they be doing together in a bedroom if it
wasn't that?' How could you do such filthiness...."

Shame swept over Ellen's body, over Ellen's mind. It was not sexual
shame, but shame that they should both be human, she and