“I’m William Pierce’s, but that hasn’t prevented my being myself.”
Lizzie’s mind had grown keener in her sharp middle age. As it played about her, Harriett cowered; it was like being exposed, naked, to a cutting wind. Her mind ran back to her father and mother, longing, like a child, for their shelter and support, for the blessed assurance of herself.
At her worst she could still think with pleasure of the beauty of the act which had given Robin to Priscilla.
X
“My dear Harriett: Thank you for your kind letter of sympathy. Although we had expected the end for many weeks poor Prissie’s death came to us as a great shock. But for her it was a blessed release, and we can only be thankful. You who knew her will realize the depth and extent of my bereavement. I have lost the dearest and most loving wife man ever had....”
Poor little Prissie. She couldn’t bear to think she would never see her again.
Six months later Robin wrote again, from Sidmouth.
“Dear Harriett: Priscilla left you this locket in her will as a remembrance. I would have sent it before but that I couldn’t bear to part with her things all at once.
“I take this opportunity of telling you that I am going to be married again——”
Her heart heaved and closed. She could never have believed she could have felt such a pang.