“Oh yes, he’s gone,” replied the soft, moaning voice of the nurse, as she looked up at Gerald’s face. She was young and beautiful and quivering. A strange sort of grin went over Gerald’s face, over the horror. And he walked out of the room.
He was going to tell his mother. On the landing he met his brother Basil.
“He’s gone, Basil,” he said, scarcely able to subdue his voice, not to let an unconscious, frightening exultation sound through.
“What?” cried Basil, going pale.
Gerald nodded. Then he went on to his mother’s room.
She was sitting in her purple gown, sewing, very slowly sewing, putting in a stitch then another stitch. She looked up at Gerald with her blue undaunted eyes.
“Father’s gone,” he said.
“He’s dead? Who says so?”
“Oh, you know, mother, if you see him.”
She put her sewing down, and slowly rose.