I found Ellen Mary still sitting in the same chair. The lamp was fluttering to extinction, the flame leaping spasmodically, dying down till it seemed that it had gone out, and then again suddenly flickering up with little clicking bursts of flame. The air reeked intolerably of paraffin.
I blew the lamp out and pushed it on one side.
There was no need to break the news to Ellen Mary. She had known last night, and now she was beyond the reach of information.
She sat upright in her chair and stared out into the immensity. Her hands alone moved, and they were not still for an instant. They lay in her lap, and her fingers writhed and picked at her dress.
I spoke to her once, but I knew that her mind was beyond the reach of my words.
"It is just as well," I thought; "but we must get her away."
I went out and called to the woman next door.
She was in her kitchen, but the door was open. She came out when I knocked.
"Poor thing," she said, when I told her. "It 'as been a shock, no doubt. She was so wrapped hup in the boy."
She could hardly have said less if her neighbour had lost half-a-crown.