fragments, to
understand, and failed.

There was another letter, which Ruth opened, of an earlier date. It was
a merely formal announcement of the death. She put back the letters in
the workbox-lid, behind the scissors; replaced the workbox on its table
as before, and returned to her mother. She was glad to find her still,
with her eyes closed; but with that red spot on her cheek, unchanged. It
was best to favour every approach of sleep, and this might be one. Ruth
sat silent, all her faculties crippled, and every feeling stunned, by
what she had gone through since Gwen's first arrival yesterday.

This terrible night had worn itself out, and she knew that that
clock-warning meant six, when the stroke should come. But there
was no daylight yet. Those movements in the kitchen must be
Elizabeth-next-door, come according to promise. That was what the
guardian-dog from without meant, pushing his way through the
bedroom-door, reporting an incomer whom he knew, and had sanctioned. He
communicated the fact to his satisfaction, and returned to his post,
leaving his mistress the better for his human sympathy, which seemed to
claim knowledge of passing event. It comforted her to feel that the day
was in hand, and that its light would come. Who could say but its ending
might find her convinced that this was all true? Blank, sickening doubts
of the meaning of everything flitted across her mind, and she longed to
settle down to realities, to be able to love this new mother without
flinching. For that was what she felt, that the mystery of this
resurrection seared or burnt her. One thing only soothed her--that this
was dear old Mrs. Prichard whom she had learned to love before its
bewilderments were sprung upon her. That made it easier to bear.

Presently she roused herself, for, was not this morning? A grey
twilight, not over-misty for the time of year, was what a raised
window-curtain showed her, and she let it fall to deal with it in
earnest, and relieve the blind from duty. Then she made sure, by the new
light, that all was well with old Maisie--mere silence, no
insensibility--and went out to speak with Elizabeth-next-door, and get
more wood for the fire. But first she blew out the candles and the
rushlight, already dying spasmodically.

Elizabeth-next-door was a strengthening influence, able to look facts in
the face. She almost elided forewords and inquiries, to come to her
strong point, the way she had used the strange sto