"I want to tell you that the last year has been the happiest of my life. I don't believe that I can ever be quite so happy again. You have been sweet to me. When I have tried to tell you this, you have always laughed, and so I want to write it down.
"Your loving
"SUSIE.
"P.S.—I hope you will marry again."
She placed the letter in an envelope to match, addressed it, and wrote above it, "To be opened after my death." Then she shed a few tears, feeling lonely and frightened, peering into the gulf which yawned in front of her, knowing that the hour was almost at hand, when she must fall down, down, down into unplumbed abysses of terror and pain.
She locked up the letter in the desk, put on a cloak, and crawled into the Cathedral, whose vastness always impressed her. The great nave was strangely familiar, yet unfamiliar. A soft, silvery light diffused itself. Susan noticed that she was alone, whereas she was accustomed to the Sunday crowd. The silence seemed to enfold her. It struck her suddenly that for many hours during each day and night the great church wherein she had worshipped since she was a child, was empty and silent, a mere sepulchre of the mighty dead, who, lying in their splendid tombs, awaited the Day of Resurrection.
Did they ever come forth at night?
What did it feel like to be dead?
Such questions had never seriously presented themselves to her before, because she was normally healthy in mind and body. Death, indeed, had been acclaimed in Laburnum Row as a not unwelcome excitement for the living, an incident that loosened all tongues, which called for criticism, and a good deal of eating and drinking. Now, alone amongst the dead, Susan considered the inevitable change from the point of view, so to speak, of those who were "taken." She was accustomed to these odd middle-class euphuisms. This particular expression, invariably used by Mrs. Biddlecombe, indicated a certain selection upon the part of the Reaper, who "took" presumably those, whether young or old, who were ripe for the sickle.
Susan shivered, praying fervently that she might be spared, that she might be deemed unripe. Her thoughts flitted hither and thither, not straying far from the austere figure with the sickle, settling now upon this hypothesis and now upon that. For example, the commonest form of condolence in Laburnum Row, leaping smugly from every matronly lip, was, "He (or she) has entered into rest." Or, with tearful conviction, "God's will be done." To doubt the truth of these statements would have seemed to Susan rank blasphemy. Even now, face to face with the awful possibility, her simple mind sucked comfort from them; they fortified her trembling body for the great ordeal. But, at the same time, she was conscious of a feeling of revolt, because life was so sweet, and her enchanting pilgrimage had just begun. It would be cruel to take her!