“Ah, we must not say that.”
She looked him through and through. “Then he is not dead?”
“No, no.”
“Thank you. That is all I want to know.”
The learned pair went out together and Mrs. James with them. The nurse remained—to drink her tea and hover. She was very ready with whispers; but Mary sat, with fixed, intense eyes, willing her husband to live, and asked for no details. By-and-by the Rector came in on noiseless feet and stood by her. Between these two there had always been sympathy; generosity on his part repaid with gratitude on hers. But now she would not turn her head. Nor even, when she felt his hand touch gently on her shoulder and stay there, could she bring herself to acknowledge the kindly act.
He remained by her so for a long time. Then, “My child,” he said, “have you had any tea?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you. I don’t want any.”
“It could be brought you here.”
“No, thank you.”
“You must be brave, Mary.”