Thekla opened the door while Isoult still stood there.
“Shall I come in, Thekla?”
“I think not, Mrs Avery, but I thank you,” she answered. “She hath not awoke to the full sorrow yet; it is rather a shock, a stun, than an agony. And who is dead to pain is alike dead to comfort. She will feel it more to-morrow, and then it may be an help unto her to talk with you.”
“And for thee, Thekla, poor child!” said Isoult, sympathisingly.
“For me?” said she, the ghost of a smile flickering a moment about her lips. “It may be I have scarce awoke either; but I dare not allow myself to think. I have my mother to comfort and support. If she can sleep at all, then will be my time.”
“And who is to support thee, poor Thekla?” whispered Isoult.
“Mrs Avery,” she answered, the light returning a moment to her eyes, “He that holdeth up heaven and earth can surely hold me up.”
Isoult said no more, but to bid her “good-night.” She wondered at her, but glided softly away.
The first thing in the morning, when Isoult rose and went into the nursery, she saw a woman bending over Walter’s crib, with black shining hair that she knew could be on no head but Esther’s.