Surely there was never a loneliness like this loneliness.
"I will go, if I may," said Cally.
Chas was eyeing her, unbelievably grave, turning his hat between his hands. And then she remembered Hen, left alone, who would not be comforted.
She whispered: "Don't wait for me.... I'll come in a minute."
The young man hesitated; they spoke a moment; it was so arranged. Chas was tipping away from her down the well of the stairs.
And she and the clergyman were walking up the corridor, his hand at her elbow, to the door with the white letters on it.
As Mr. Dayne's hand touched the knob, she spoke again, very low.
"Is he.... Is he--much ...?"
"No," said Mr. Dayne, "the injuries were internal. There's hardly a mark...."
So, opening the door softly, he left her.