He was exceedingly uplifted and happy and exhausted. Hilda's handwriting moved him. The whole missive was like a personal emanation from her. It lived with her vitality. It fought for the mastery of the household interior against the mysterious, far-reaching spell of the dying woman. "Your loving wife." Never before, during their marriage, had she written a phrase so comforting and exciting. He thought: "My faith in her is never worthy of her." And his faith leaped up and became worthy of her.
"George has got influenza," he said indifferently.
"George! But influenza's very serious for him, isn't it?" Maggie showed alarm.
"Why should it be?"
"Considering he nearly died of it at Orgreaves'!"
"Oh! Then! ... He'll be all right."
But Maggie had put fear into Edwin,--a superstitious fear. Influenza indeed might be serious for George. Suppose he died of it. People did die of influenza. Auntie Hamps--Tertius Ingpen--and now George! ... All these anxieties mingling with his joy in the thought of Hilda! And all the brooding rooms of the house waiting in light or in darkness for a decisive event!
"I must go and lie down," he said. He could contain no more sensations.
"Do," said Maggie.
IV