r ever. How was it
possible, with the length, breadth and depth of three days all
crushed into the microscopic space of five hours--a dizzy whirling
acceleration of time--how was it possible for her to think logically,
consecutively, to even think at all? She could not think. She had
lain back in the carriage, her head lax against the cushions, and
simply permitted the whole procession of events, like some
retreating army with death at its heels, to stagger across her brain.
Down the old river-path to the Hewsons' house, she had walked as if
asleep, the glazed eyes of the somnambulist, staring in front, but
seeing nothing. Up to her bedroom she had climbed with but one thought
in her mind, the fear of waking any one. She had struck a match outside
the door, lest the scratching of it in the room should rouse Janet.
Such considerations as these her mind could grasp. It needed a night
of sleep to nurse her comprehension back to all that she had been
through. As yet, she was unable to realize it.

One by one, she took off her clothes, in the same mechanical way as
she would have done if she had returned exhausted from working
overtime at the office. When she put on her night-dress, she knelt
down unpremeditatedly upon the floor, held her hands together, and
looked up to the ceiling, watching a fly that was braving the cold
of winter, as it crept in a sluggish, hibernated way across the white
plaster. When she rose to her feet and blew out the candle, she was
under the vague impression that she had said her prayers. Then she
climbed into bed, pulled the clothes about her, and, as her hand
touched the pillow, its softness, the remembrance of the many nights
when in loneliness she had wept herself to sleep, all rushed back
with their thousand associations, and the dam against her soul broke.
The flood of tears poured through, and she sobbed convulsively.

Suddenly then, with a grasp of the breath, she stopped, though the
tears still toppled down. She had heard her name.

"Sally--"

It was Janet. Before she could resist, before she could explain, two
thin arms were clasped round her breast and a close, warm body was
next to hers.

"What is it, Sally--little Sally? tell Janet--tell
Janet--whisper--"

The passionate sobbing, which had begun again immediately Sally knew
it was Janet, commenced now to break into uneven, uncontrolled
breaths, that by degrees became quieter and quieter as Janet
whispered the fond, meaningles