There was no need of question nor of answer; no need of the frantic pressure of the motionless heart. No need of Rob's rushing to meet Prue, who opened the door at that moment, nor of bidding her hasten for her life for Dr. Fairbairn.
For they knew, the stricken wife and daughters, that Sylvester Grey had slipped painlessly, quietly away from them, and from the joy of the triumph of his loving efforts for them, into the joy that should never end.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ITS DANGER
The days that followed its bereavement passed like a dream over the little grey house. There is no preparation for grief; Mr. Grey's death came upon those who had loved him as if there had been no warning of the danger in which he lived, and, as they met the necessary claims and performed the hard tasks their sorrow laid upon them, it was impossible for them to realize that it was the dear dreamer whom they were laying away to dreamless sleep up on the hill, under the great elms of Fayre's old graveyard.
But when these confused days were past and the tall, thin figure no longer cast its shadow over the old doorway, nor the nervous step fell on bewildered ears, unconsciously straining to hear it, Sylvester Grey's wife and daughters began dimly to realize that he had gone away. Of the three girls the loss and loneliness was bitterest to Rob, but it was she who met it most bravely, resolving to be, indeed, to her mother the "son Rob" her "Patergrey" had always called her.
Aunt Azraella, in her own way, had been a comfort during this first, disturbed week, coming in with perfect efficiency to plan and execute the arrangements from which the Greys shrank, but it was "Cousin Peace" on whom they all leaned now that, everything done, they sat down with sorrow.
One morning, when her sister-in-law had been widowed ten days, Aunt Azraella came down to the little grey house for a business conference. "Little Polly Flinders" was hastily smuggled upstairs, with Hortense to bear her company. She was a different little Polly than Rob had found pining away in the big chintz chair; color was coming into the white little face, and in the necessity of making things cheerful around the child, all four Greys found help and comfort. It was much to feel that they were establishing in health and life the pathetic child who had chanced to be the one to hear the last tones of that voice now forever silent.
"I came down, Mary, to talk with you about your prospects," said Aunt Azraella, unwinding her long barège veil as she seated herself before the fire.