John shut his book and came to her. He supported her on his bosom, saying a soothing word or two at intervals, or when the paroxysm of her anguish was beyond all bounds supporting her silently till it had gone by; never once letting her feel that, bitter as her sorrow was, his was heavier than hers.
Thus, during the whole of the day, had he been the stay and consolation of the household. For himself—the father's grief was altogether dumb.
At last Mrs. Halifax became more composed. She sat beside her husband, her hand in his, neither speaking, but gazing, as it were, into the face of this their great sorrow, and from thence up to the face of God. They felt that He could help them to bear it; ay, or anything else that it was His will to send—if they might thus bear it, together.
We all three sat thus, and there had not been a sound in the parlour for ever so long, when Mrs. Tod opened the door and beckoned me.
"He will come in—he's crazy-like, poor fellow! He has only just heard—"
She broke off with a sob. Lord Ravenel pushed her aside and stood at the door. We had not seen him since the day of that innocent jest about his "falling in love" with Muriel. Seeing us all so quiet, and the parlour looking as it always did when he used to come of evenings—the young man drew back, amazed.
"It is not true! No, it could not be true!" he muttered.
"It is true," said the father. "Come in."
The mother held out her hand to him. "Yes, come in. You were very fond of—"
Ah! that name!—now nothing but a name! For a little while we all wept sore.