DOI article:
Crackanthorpe, Hubert: A study in sentimentality
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27812#0198
194 A Study in Sentimentality
She tore her veil from her face : their lips met, and her head
rested a moment, sobbing on his shoulder.
" Hush ! don't cry, Ethel dear, don't cry. You have made me
so glad. . . . And you will remember to take the box . . . And
you will think of me sometimes . . . And I shall pray God to
make you happy, and I shall wait for you, Ethel, and be with you
in thought, and if you have trouble, you will know that I shall be
sorrowing with you. Isn't it so, dear ? . . . Now, good-bye,
dear one—good-bye. May God watch over you."
She had moved away. She came back again, however, and
kissed his forehead reverently. But he was not aware of her
return, for his mind had begun to wander.
She brushed past Mrs. Parkin in the passage, bidding her an
incoherent good-bye : she was instinctively impatient to escape to
the protection of familiar surroundings. Inside the house, she felt
helpless, dizzy : the melodrama of the whole scene had stunned
her senses, and pity for him was rushing through her in waves of
pulsing emotion.
As she passed the various landmarks, which she had noted on
her outward journey—a group of Scotch Ars, a roofless cattle-shed,
a pile of felled trees—each seemed to wear an altered aspect.
With what a strange suddenness it had all happened ! Yesterday
the groom had brought back word that he was in delirium, and
had told her of the loneliness of the house. It had seemed so sad,
his lying ill, all alone : the thought had preyed on her conscience,
till she had started to drive out there to inquire if there were any-
thing she could do to help him. Now, every corner round which
the cart swung, lengthened the stretch of road that separated her
from that tragic scene in his room . . . Perhaps it was not right for
her to drive home and leave him? But she couldn't bear to stay :
it was all so dreadful. Besides, she assured herself, she could do
no
She tore her veil from her face : their lips met, and her head
rested a moment, sobbing on his shoulder.
" Hush ! don't cry, Ethel dear, don't cry. You have made me
so glad. . . . And you will remember to take the box . . . And
you will think of me sometimes . . . And I shall pray God to
make you happy, and I shall wait for you, Ethel, and be with you
in thought, and if you have trouble, you will know that I shall be
sorrowing with you. Isn't it so, dear ? . . . Now, good-bye,
dear one—good-bye. May God watch over you."
She had moved away. She came back again, however, and
kissed his forehead reverently. But he was not aware of her
return, for his mind had begun to wander.
She brushed past Mrs. Parkin in the passage, bidding her an
incoherent good-bye : she was instinctively impatient to escape to
the protection of familiar surroundings. Inside the house, she felt
helpless, dizzy : the melodrama of the whole scene had stunned
her senses, and pity for him was rushing through her in waves of
pulsing emotion.
As she passed the various landmarks, which she had noted on
her outward journey—a group of Scotch Ars, a roofless cattle-shed,
a pile of felled trees—each seemed to wear an altered aspect.
With what a strange suddenness it had all happened ! Yesterday
the groom had brought back word that he was in delirium, and
had told her of the loneliness of the house. It had seemed so sad,
his lying ill, all alone : the thought had preyed on her conscience,
till she had started to drive out there to inquire if there were any-
thing she could do to help him. Now, every corner round which
the cart swung, lengthened the stretch of road that separated her
from that tragic scene in his room . . . Perhaps it was not right for
her to drive home and leave him? But she couldn't bear to stay :
it was all so dreadful. Besides, she assured herself, she could do
no