So nothing was wanting from the finished picture, not the last exquisite stroke. He, the believer, had believed even in her father's floors. It was she who had doubted, she who had asked the help that never failed. Had he not told her not to worry?...
But if only she hadn't stopped going inside. If only her heart would soon begin to beat again....
Chas Cooney was winking his keen eyes.
"He'd got clear--there was plenty of time.... One of the negro women was knocked over by a flying splinter.... Things were falling all around. So he stopped for her.... She wasn't hurt at all, when we pulled her out.... Of course Uncle Thornton was back in it all. A beam knocked him senseless...."
"Surgeon said it was instantaneous," came papa's shadowy voice. "Well.... It's on my head. I'm responsible. I know that."
And he sat down uncertainly, and somewhat pitifully, on the tall hall-chair....
Then nobody said anything more. There would never be anything more to say. Time would go on a long while yet, but no one would ever add another touch here. This was the end of the world.
He had trusted the Heths too far.
And how strange and void it was at the world's end, how deadly still but for the faint roarings of waters far off.
She was walking toward her father. Through the roaring there came a voice, so little and so remote.